Warcraft 1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note**__: It is my firm belief that I write _better _than R. A. Knaak. With that in mind, this thing has been in the works for way too long, and the story is far from finished. I've finally managed to kick off my writer's block, and I'm rather happy with the way this first chapter has turned out. (Updated 2/28 - Currently in the process of re-writing the whole story to bring it on par with the second book.)_

_**Disclaimer**__: World of Warcraft is the sole property of Blizzard Entertainment. I make no claims of ownership whatsoever._

**_Also_**_, in response to a private message I received... any similarities between my story and anything else published on this website or anywhere else (official WoW novels included) is coincidence and nothing more. I've been writing fanfiction for almost nine years now and I may be a lot of things, but an idea thief I am not. Thank you :)_

**1.**

"The Wildhammer dwarves and the orcs of Shadowmoon Village have taken over the far end of the valley. Our forces at Illidari Point are overwhelmed and even holding the Path of Conquest grows difficult. The Aldor and those damned Scryer traitors are harassing our troops day and night. We've already lost hundreds of our men - and for what? None of this makes sense! Whatever happened to the glorious future we were promised? I can't believe we left our home for - for any of _this_!"

The booming voice of Gathios, who was known as 'the Shatterer' among Sunfury soldiers, echoed off the crumbling stone walls. The Sunfury general was not pleased. Another skirmish had ended in utter defeat for the sin'dorei. Out of fifty men, barely three had made it back alive. Such occurrences were becoming far more common as of late, with the enemy growing bolder by the day.

It was Lady Malande, the self-appointed supreme cleric of Karabor, who spoke next. "Silence, fool!" she hissed. She lowered her voice even more, "Illidan has spies everywhere. Do you not value your life?"

From her hiding spot in one of the high alcoves, Vaala Dawnstrike allowed herself a little smile. She was no spy of Illidan's, but merely someone who traded in information. Being a Blood Elf herself, she'd had little trouble sneaking past the monstrous defenses Illidan had set in place at the gates and mingling with the Illidari inside. All that was needed had been a stolen tabard, an 'urgent missive', and some clever acting on her part. She had been shadowing Malande and Gathios for nearly two weeks now, and learned far more than any Scryer officer could have hoped.

The Illidari Council had gathered in supposed secrecy this time, not in their usual chambers, but in a deserted chapel on the eastern side of the temple. Things were not going well. Most of the Sunfury soldiers had no idea that the chain of command was on the verge of crumbling. As far as Vaala was concerned, they weren't entitled to the knowledge, either - not unless they were willing to part with a large sum of gold beforehand, of course.

"The advance points on this side of the valley are small and could be easily overtaken." High Nethermancer Zerevor smiled quizzically before continuing, "If our... benevolent lord and master were to give such an order, of course."

"I'll give the order myself, if that's what it takes!" Gathios slammed his fist on the stone table in front of him for emphasis. "Our forces are more than enough to rid ourselves of these pests!"

Vaala arched one eyebrow as she listened intently. This kind of talk was nothing short of treason. The Sunfury were to make no move unless the demon lord of Karabor commanded it. The Council knew as much. However, while Gathios knew little of subtlety or deceit, the nethermancer, Zerevor, would most likely find a suitable scapegoat if the attacks would fail. And, Vaala realized, any direct assault was likely doomed from the beginning. The Sunfury ranks were said to crawl with spies. The enemy would be prepared.

Vaala heard a small noise behind her as Zerevor began to speak once more. She ignored it for the time being, intent on hearing what else the nethermancer had to say.

"Perhaps what we need right now is more of a... surgical strike. Cut off the head of the beast, and the body is likely to crumble." As he spoke, Zerevor turned to Veras Darkshadow, who had kept silent so far. "We won't ask you to send your assassins all the way to Shattrath, of course, but both outposts are considerably less guarded, and their commanders would be easily drawn out."

The noise came again. Vaala hesitated for a brief moment, then turned, one of daggers already half-drawn. She saw a hint of movement at the back of the alcove, a swirl of fel energy, gone just as suddenly as it had appeared. Cautiously, she crept away from the edge and squinted in the darkness. Her senses were hardly attuned to the different schools of magic, but even she could tell that someone had just cast a spell.

The members of the Council had likely heard the noise as well. An ominous silence descended.

"We are not safe here," Malande whispered finally, standing up. "Come. We will finish this discussion another time."

Vaala held perfectly still as one by one, the four blood elves left the chapel. It was only when the echo of their footsteps had finally died out that she allowed herself a long, drawn sigh. Her mind was already sorting everything she'd heard into bits and pieces of information that could be traded later on. However, one thing was particularly concerning. Someone had been in the alcove moments before, and had most likely been listening in to most of the conversation as well. As she pondered the implications, Vaala reached again for her dagger. Whoever they were, they wouldn't live long enough to talk.

The noise came a third time. The air tingled with fel magic, so strong it made Vaala's hairs stand on end. She whirled around, dagger ready...

...and found herself staring deep into the eyes of the Betrayer.

For the first time in years, Vaala was at a complete loss of what to do. The dagger slipped away from her suddenly numb fingers and fell to the stone floor clatter that echoed loudly in the silence. There were plenty of rumors about the horrors that went on behind the walls of the Black Temple, and the supposed cruelty of Illidan Stormrage was legendary. Her chances of surviving this ill-fated encounter were laughably small.

Unless...

In one swift motion, Vaala dropped to one knee and bowed her head in what she hoped would be seen as an appropriate gesture of reverence. "My lord."

"Who are you?"

The question had a dangerous edge to it. Vaala resisted the urge to turn back and flee, knowing full well she had nowhere to go. "My name is Vaala Dawnstrike," she replied, noting with fleeting satisfaction that her voice hardly gave away her fear. "You may not know me, but it hardly matters now. We are all at risk. The Council plans to-"

Illidan cut her off with a gesture. "So I've heard." His voice dipped to a low, menacing baritone as he continued, "I knew they could not be trusted... not for long, anyway. I should have you know, I trust no-one these days. And least of all, a spy."

_'So... this is where it all ends for me'_, Vaala thought bitterly. _'Of all the ways to go, who would have thought I'd have the honor of being offed by the demon lord himself?'_ She stood up slowly, all traces of pretense gone. She felt oddly at peace, almost as if her body and her mind had become two separate entities. Soon enough, the pain would come. She could only hope that it would be over quickly.

The tremor caught both spy and demon by surprise. These quakes happened often enough, and up until now Vaala hadn't cared much for them. Now, however, she thanked whatever deities were listening as the slight distraction allowed her to turn and leap to the side and over the edge of the alcove, landing in a crouch on the hard rock below. A split second later, the alcove crumbled. The ground shook for a few moments still, then the tremor subsided just as suddenly as it had begun. Vaala straightened up and took a deep breath. _'Too close'_, she thought as she dusted herself off almost without knowing it_. _It was high time to leave the Black Temple and never return. Now, if only-

"I should kill you now."

The voice echoed around the chapel, followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps. Vaala felt her heart sink. Nonetheless, she stood up slowly and reached for her second dagger, which carried the most lethal poison she could find in the shadowy alleys of Shattrath. The smallest gash was sure to bring certain death to any opponent. Well... almost any opponent, Vaala corrected herself wearily. She had little doubt that it would prove useless against Illidan, even if she were to miraculously land a blow. However, now that the initial shock had passed, there was no harm in trying, at least. "You can, and you probably will," she said as she unsheathed her weapon and turned around to face him. "And I can't even say that it won't be it easy. But I refuse to simply sit down and die."

"So be it then."

Vaala said nothing. She didn't attack. Instead, she turned and ran. A moment later, she heard him charge, as she'd expected him to do. She jumped to the side barely in time to dodge the attack; then, she whirled around, aimed and hurled her dagger at Illidan's exposed back.

The plan was desperate at best, and Vaala knew that even a deep wound would be a minor bother for such a strong foe. Even before she saw her blade bounce harmlessly off Illidan's enchanted warglaives, she knew with sickening certainty that the end would come soon. Nevertheless, she dodged the incoming blow - and then another, and another. _'He's toying with me'_, she thought bitterly.

_'Or...?'_

"Wait!"

Vaala was taken aback at the booming sound of her own voice. The shout, however, had its desired effect. Illidan paused. Despite the blind terror that threatened to overcome her, she held her ground. "I'm more useful to you alive", she went on hastily. "Your enemies trust me. I can get you valuable information."

The tension stretched on, one unbearable moment at a time... until, finally, Illidan broke the silence. "And why", he drawled, "would you want to serve me?"

There was no point in lying, Vaala realized. "To save my own skin, of course", she said with a shrug. She paused for a moment, then added, "Besides, I always work for the highest bidder."

Illidan let loose a roaring pelt of laughter, and Vaala felt her hopes sink once more. "I have no doubt that, given the opportunity, you'd turn against me in a heartbeat," he said when he was finished. "Betrayal... is a concept I am all too familiar with, spy."

Vaala flinched at the bitterness of the words. For a fleeting moment, the demon had seemed almost frail, almost... in pain. Had that been a fancy? When he spoke again, there was no trace of whatever emotion he had shown before.

"However... you do seem both cunning and skilled with the blade. I suppose I could find some use for you. And," he added, his voice gaining a dangerous edge, "should you so much as think of turning against me... you will die by my hand long before you've had the chance."

Vaala said nothing. Things had gone horribly, horribly wrong... Or perhaps not, she thought as she kneeled once more, in a true display of submission this time. After all, the temple _did_ offer better protection than whatever meager outposts the Horde had erected across the valley. Here, at least, she would be safe and free to gather more information until she could find an opportunity to return to her allies once more.

"Come with me," Illidan said at length. Then, not bothering to see if Vaala was following him or not, he stalked off.

**2. **

To those attuned to the flow of the arcane, the many conflicting currents that coursed through the broken landmass of the Netherstorm were unsettling at best and nauseating otherwise. It was in this unwelcoming land that the blood elves had thought to harvest the primordial energies of the Twisting Nether and sate their ever-present thirst for magic, and their designs had even yielded some results. Under the watchful eye of the rulers in Tempest Keep, the mana forges had thrived...

...and then, inexplicably, one by one they had fallen to Aldor and Scryer raids. Many lives had been lost that way, and the few that remained from the once-mighty army had sought refuge within the enchanted walls of Tempest Keep. The former Naaru vessel had held out against the assaults for a while – yet, slowly but surely, its defenses had been breached one by one, until one day, a party of mercenaries had fought its way inside the fortress. The massacre had been absolute. It had been days before the conquerors had left, satisfied with their pillaging... and then, finally, the pathetically few survivors had emerged from their hiding.

There were a few dozen of them at best, lead by Sarannis, the former commander of a small detachment stationed on the Botanica. Sarannis had been one of the few officers to rise swiftly through the ranks after the capture of Tempest Keep. Quick-witted and fierce in battle, she was hardly one to flee from a confrontation. In the chaos of the final assault, her devoted guards had risked life and limb to drag her away from the fray.

Alongside Sarannis, High Botanist Freywinn had also survived the attack. Left for dead after the onslaught, he had pulled himself back from the brink of death with the strange new magics his research had uncovered. Freywinn kept to himself most of the time, and when he did speak, it was usually to mourn the loss of his 'specimens'.

The other survivors were men and women of many trades – warp-engineers, centurions, blood knights, magisters, and even a few pilgrims whose journey had put them in a place far worse than anyone could have predicted. Presently, the group had gathered in one of the many broken halls of the floating fortress. A few had previously carried the bodies of the fallen someplace else, out of necessity rather than respect or pity. Commander Sarannis surveyed the others. Most appeared to have yet to come to terms with their new predicament. Out of the former Sunfury army, only these few remained... too few. Somewhere among them, she caught Freywinn's eye. The botanist held her gaze for a few moments before pointedly looking away.

"We must leave this place."

Sarannis had spoken loud enough to be heard by all. A few faces turned towards her, regarding her with a mixture of apprehension and expectancy.

"And where are we to go?" someone asked. The question was echoed by several others.

Sarannis pushed a lock of fiery-red hair behind her ear. "I'm... not sure," she admitted finally. "But we cannot stay here, either. The raiders might return... and even if they do not, our provisions have all but run out. There is nothing left for us here but death-"

"We should return to the Black Temple at once." Freywinn had stood up and was surveying the others with a look of defiance on his delicate features. "Our brethren there will welcome us, offer us sanctuary and the time we need to gather our strength."

Sarannis arched an eyebrow at him. "We would have to cross this whole wretched world to even reach that place!" she said incredulously. "And even if we did, Illidan would never forgive our betrayal-"

Freywinn cut her off with a curt gesture. "It was Kael'thas who sided with the Burning Legion, and Kael'thas is dead."

Sarannis was taken aback at the harshness in his voice. Saying such a thing so bluntly was more than inappropriate under the circumstances. Morale was already low enough even without someone so callously mentioning the death of their prince, which had brought forth an added pain for many.

"We wouldn't be welcomed anywhere else," Freywinn continued in a slightly more subdued manner. "If we gather whatever provisions we have left and move out now, we may still have a chance to make the journey. The longer we wait-"

"What about Shattrath?"

Now it was Freywinn's turn to look around in puzzlement. The speaker was a haggard-looking man with rough features and a mane of unkempt silvery hair whose robes marked him as a priest. Tempest Keep had been housing a few of his calling, and he appeared to be the very last one left.

"Forgive me for speaking out of turn," the man continued, even though the apology was clearly not sincere, "but many of our kind have already found refuge in Shattrath, and more are known stop there before beginning the journey back to Silvermoon. I'm certain we could pass unnoticed and even gain some assistance from the Scryers if-"

"_The Scryers?_" Freywinn eyed the priest with unmasked contempt."_We_ will _never_ side with those traitors," he said slowly. His fierce gaze dared anyone to say otherwise. Satisfied, he continued, "If we remain loyal to lord Illidan, we may still have a chance at reclaiming this place someday. Some of the research we conducted here showed such promise that only a fool would let it go so easily."

"And what if Illidan won't have us?" came a shy voice from somewhere among the crowd.

Freywinn paused. "We will weigh our options when and if it comes to that."

"It is settled, then," Sarannis proclaimed in a booming voice. "Gather your belongings, but take only what you can carry by yourselves. We will use our mounts to carry the heavier supplies."

"And what about our fallen?" asked another voice.

Sarannis swallowed hard. "The dead won't be needing anything else," she said at length. "Be glad that you are not among them."

Some of the survivors bowed their heads in silence. Others shook with renewed grief. Somewhere at the back of the crowd, someone was crying with stiffled sobs. Sarannis herself felt her chest tighten. Her voice, however, was still strong when she spoke again. "The only way in which we can honor our kin is to not let their sacrifices be in vain," she said, and she was pleased to see that her words sent a wave of renewed determination through most. "We _must _endure. And some day... we will have _justice_."

**3. **

Alone in her new chambers, Vaala was lost in thought. She had long since gone past the point where she would regret her decision. The dice had already been cast; now, it was time to consider whatever advantages this new situation could bring.

Aside from a few Sunfury who still clung to the fashions of old, the denizens of Karabor seemed to care little for aesthetics if these chambers were any indication. What little furnishings remained were dusty and crumbling. The walls were chipped, cracked, and stained with dried blood. Someone had died here, and it had not been of old age. A hardened rogue would not concern herself with gruesome deeds of the past, of course. Still, Vaala felt uneasy. The place was unsettling enough.

An Ashtongue servant had delivered a strange gift earlier that day – a massive pedant with an intricate silver setting and a jewel the likes of which Vaala had never seen before, hanging from a heavy chain made of the same material. The gem was hardly chiseled and felt warm and surprisingly soft to the touch. Even in the strong light of the magical globes drifting around the room, it gave off a faint glow and seemed to pulsate with a magic of its own. Vaala was smart enough to realize that the purpose of this unusual offering was not to sway her loyalties in any way; after all, Illidan had made it clear that he would not stand for anything less than absolute obedience.

Then...?

Hesitating just slightly, Vaala slipped the chain around her neck. Almost instantly, she felt the fel energies trapped within the gem course through her body. The painful pangs of her race's ever-present magical addiction were gone in a matter of moments. Instead, Vaala felt like she could take on the world and emerge victorious. The sensation was intoxicating.

_It took you long enough._

Vaala jumped at the voice and looked around in bewilderment. Predictably enough, she saw no trace of Illidan, even though she could hear him as clearly as though he were standing next to her.

_That gem you carry is now bound to you. Through it, I will see what you see, hear what you hear. Your mind is now open to me. You cannot hide from me anymore than you can hide from yourself._

Vaala sighed. It only made sense that Illidan would take no chances with his newest servitor. Out loud, she said, "I have nothing to hide." It was a lie, of course, but it would serve to abate some suspicion for now.

_As long as you serve me, you will have nothing to fear,_ the voice went on, ignoring this._ My energy will empower you beyond your wildest dreams. You will be my eyes and, should the need arise, my blade as well._

This reminded Vaala that both her daggers had been lost before and she was unarmed and surrounded by people who would be more than eager to put her new loyalties to the test. "It's hard to be a blade when you don't have one to begin with, you know."

_Then I suggest you find one. You of all people should know where to look._

Vaala rolled her eyes, although she hadn't expected any other reply. In truth, she didn't know much. The Sunfury had their own jealously-guarded cache of exotic weaponry and armor. The other factions seemed to prefer simpler weapons – spears, maces, javelins or crudely-fashioned swords. However, she had no idea where any of these were kept.

_I will be watching your progress with great interest, my little spy. And remember... one false move-_

"-And I'm history. I think you've made that point clear enough."

The voice went silent. Vaala guessed that he hadn't withdrawn completely, but only enough to make it seem like he was gone. And, sure enough, a quick inward search was all it took to find a small presence at the back of her mind, lurking in utter silence, but there nonetheless. She rolled her eyes. So be it, then.

On to more practical matters, walking the halls and promenades of the Black Temple, unarmed, seemed like the dictionary definition of suicide. Even though her most recent employer had done his best to provide her with a rough map of the temple layout, her knowledge was still lacking at best. On the other hand, however, doing nothing was obviously an even worse alternative. With one last sigh, Vaala straightened her back, dusted her armor off, and stepped out of the chambers and into the courtyard beyond.

It only took a few minutes of aimless wandering to learn that the Sunfury forces occupied most of the upper tier of the temple. The vast promenade that stretched around the living quarters and training grounds was laced with gardens and statues in a clumsy attempt to emulate Silvermoon City in its former glory. Still, whatever magic sustained the plants was undoubtedly tainted with the foul energies of this place. Some of the trees were already beginning to bend in strange shapes, while others were withering and dying. The carefully constructed geometry that the sin'dorei cherished was on the verge of crumbling... just like the rest of this wretched world.

**4. **

The few Sunfury that Vaala saw appeared disheartened. They wandered about without any apparent purpose, and most didn't seem to notice her passing. She could even find it in her heart to pity them. Many had left Silvermoon City lured by the promise of a new and fulfilling life in a world that was brimming with magic ready for the taking. Instead, the blood elves had been thrown in the middle of a war that had brought no gain and more losses than any would have dared to imagine. Too, the conflict was far from over. If anything, all sides were biding their time before the next time they would clash, and if the earlier words from the Council were of any indication, that time could only come soon.

"I haven't seen you before...?"

The voice made Vaala start in surprise. She spun around, coming face-to-face with a woman clad in plate armor. Whoever she was, she seemed to spare no expense to look imposing. Every inch of her armor was polished so thoroughly it glowed even in the dim light of the Shadowmoon sky, as was the insignia on one shoulder that marked her as an officer. A silvery claymore rested in an elaborate scabbard. Vaala studied her closely, and saw that the armor bore some signs of combat: a scratch here, a small dent there... This woman was certainly no amateur.

"I know my soldiers, and I know their courtesans," the woman went on, one hand hovering close to the hilt of her claymore. "You seem to be neither. If you're a spy, then you're a really foolish one. Did you think you could sneak in here so easily?"

'_Well, it _was _easy enough_', Vaala thought with a small inward grin. Out loud, she said, "If I were a spy, then that would make your own men look bad for not catching me sooner, wouldn't it?" There. Let her chew on that for a while.

The officer didn't take the bait. "You might as well give up now," she said mockingly as she drew her claymore. "Your life ends here."

Vaala felt her heart skip a beat. Trying to make a stand against an obviously experienced enemy was troublesome enough, and the fact that she had no weapons only made things worse. Running away, however, would have been a dead giveaway. Somehow, she doubted that Illidan would swoop down from the skies to help her. In fact, she was sure that the bastard was watching and laughing even now, damn him.

The other woman swung her claymore with almost unbelievable speed for such a massive weapon. Vaala jumped to the side, barely dodging the blow. The next swing came quicker than Vaala had thought possible, and she felt a sharp sting as the blade sliced through her leather armor and grazed the flesh underneath. She took a few hasty steps back. This wasn't good. Her opponent was moving too quick, almost as if - _of course! _The woman was obviously drawing on some sort of demonic energy. After all, many blood elves were already addicted to fel magic; it wasn't a stretch to think that it also gave them strength. Vaala hesitated for a split second – and then, she herself drew on the power of the gem she wore around her neck.

The world became a blur. The blows came in quick succession now, but Vaala dodged them with surprising ease. She was dimly aware that she was still backing away. The other's frustration was becoming obvious, and a frustrated enemy was prone to make mistakes. As her back connected with something hard, Vaala had already formed a plan. The officer pulled back her claymore for one final assault. Vaala held perfectly still...

...and stepped out of the way just as the other thrust the massive sword past her and into the wall behind. The blade lodged itself between two stones, and Vaala thanked the Sun for her luck. The officer paused, gaping in shock. That brief moment was more than enough; Vaala lunged forward and kicked her opponent's midsection with enough force to send her staggering back, causing her to loose her grip on the hilt. Then, summoning all of her strength, Vaala yanked the blade free.

The whole ordeal had seemed to last for an eternity. As the world slowly came back into focus, Vaala realized that there were perhaps a dozen onlookers gathered around them now, many of them staring at her in disbelief, and some with open hostility. The other woman was getting up now, her features a mask of pure contempt.

This was the moment to clear all suspicions. And Vaala had the perfect story.

"My name is Vaala Dawnstrike," she said in a voice loud enough for all to hear. "I am a refugee from manaforge B'naar... and I am done fighting against my own kin."

And then, against all better judgment, Vaala tossed the claymore aside, turned and walked away. Normally, she wouldn't have gone for such a dramatic gesture, but such displays were necessary sometimes. This was also a show of confidence, even though she had little hope that she could use the same trick a second time. Sure enough, she heard a furious battle cry, followed by the sound of charging footsteps... and then, that of metal clattering against metal. She turned around slowly, finding that a new figure had entered the fray – a blood elf wielding the twin blades that marked a demon hunter that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. One of his blades had clashed with the officer's claymore and he was holding her at bay with no apparent effort on his part.

"Enough."

The one word had an immediate effect. The officer bowed her head, sheathed her blade and walked away without another word, her earlier fury replaced by a blank expression of absolute obedience. Then, as the newcomer turned towards her, Vaala instantly knew why.

Varedis... She had heard stories of this man, rumored to be the only blood elf to survive harsh training at the hands of Illidan himself and become a full-fledged demon hunter like his master before him. His name was known and dreaded even in Shattrath. The onlookers had all but scattered, and once again Vaala felt anxiety building up underneath her supposed confidence. Without her blades, she had no chance against an opponent such as him. But if he intended to attack, why help her in the first place?

"Thank you," Vaala said quietly, hoping that gratitude, at least, would buy her time if nothing else.

To her surprise, Varedis only gave her a small shrug in response. "There is no need," he added after a few moments. "I don't know who you are, but I know that pedant you wear. As long as lord Illidan trusts you, you are not my enemy. Be wary, though. If you are weak, its energies will consume you... and nothing will save you then."

Vaala nodded her head gravely. Apparently pleased with this, Varedis left without another word, leaving her to her thoughts once more. It seemed that everything here was dangerous in one way or another. How very typical of life: offer some hope, maybe even a faint glimpse of a future where one's greatest concern would be whether to have steak or ribs for second lunch, then take it all away.

Some time later, Vaala realized that, despite her doing her best to keep track of her surroundings, she was hopelessly lost. The Black Temple was a maze of stairs, chambers, courtyards and hallways. By the looks of things, she had long since left the upper tier. There were hardly any Sunfury around, and those she saw seemed to go about important business if their looks of purpose and confidence were anything to go by. She saw more of the Ashtongue draenei, walking in small groups or whispering among themselves. They were called the "Broken" for a reason, because whatever fire had sustained their race thus far appeared to be all but gone.

Vaala turned away from the courtyard she'd been pacing and descended a long flight of stairs almost without realizing it, deep in thought as she was. At the end of it was a smaller courtyard, with a long-since dried water well in the center. A lone, elderly Ashtongue was there, sitting atop a massive stone. Vaala decided to try her luck. If anything, this man probably knew how to get back to the top of the temple, and she could hopefully find her way back to her chambers from there.

"Hello?" Vaala said tentatively. When the Ashtongue gave no indication that he'd heard her, she pressed on, "I'm sorry to disturb you, elder, but I'm lost. I was looking for the armory, and-"

"Lost. Lost!" The Ashtongue turned towards her with a fierce stare. "We are all lost, child. The shadow has fallen, a terrible, terrible evil... We fade away along with this dying world... along with the evil... lost forever. Do you see the evil? It's everywhere!"

Vaala kept her expression carefully blank. A raving old man was the last thing she felt like dealing with right now. "I'm sure we'll drive away this... evil... eventually," she offered, even though she scarcely believed it.

The Ashtongue's gaze seemed to pierce right through to her soul as he replied, "I'm sure we will."

The conversation was over. As Vaala left the courtyard, she couldn't help but wonder at the cryptic words. Something was going on here, something that went beyond the ravings of a madman... who probably wasn't even mad.

**5.**

Somewhere within the upper levels of Tempest Keep was a row of small, insignificant compartments. The Sunfury engineering crews had once used these to deposit spare parts, equipment and the occasional pilfered mana potion to be enjoyed later on. The raiders had searched each space thoroughly and appropriated anything that could be used or sold. Whatever they had left behind lay scattered, more or less intact, on the crystal floor.

Presently, a lone figure carefully made its way through the debris. It appeared to be made of nothing but shadow, and yet it did not shake or disperse in the flickering lights of the enchanted globes that lined the walls. Once or twice, the figure stopped to cast a furtive glance over its shoulder. No Sunfury had followed it here, that much was certain... but they were hardly a concern anymore. The siege had awoken things far more terrible than a handful of disillusioned sin'dorei.

The figure finally found its goal: one particular storage room, all but indistinguishable from the rest, littered with various remains. It reached out with steady fingers and touched a small crystal which made a musical sound and glowed a bright red. A moment later, a portion of the wall behind it slid open to reveal a hidden compartment. Inside was a dark orb that gave the faint but unmistakable aura of powerful enchantments at work... a scrying orb.

The figure scanned its surroundings once more. Then, seemingly satisfied, it muttered a quick incantation. Slowly, the shadows began to fade, giving way to the more mundane shapes and colors of a man clad in the silver-and-violet robes of the priesthood of the Light. The man combed a hand through his graying hair, then suddenly he reached for the orb. Almost immediately, bright runes began to skitter across the surface as a light mist began to swirl inside. Draenor held only a handful of such artifacts. The priest could only hope that the one who was currently in possession of this one's counterpart was still alive and ready to receive his long since overdue report.

Several minutes trickled by with no change whatsoever. The priest sighed. The world at large thought the siege on Tempest Keep had left no survivors. What point was there be in-

The mist thickened, then began to disperse into wisps of color. The colors arranged to shape the outlines of something... no, some_one _as the priest watched intently. The shape was familiar enough... now, if he could only-

"Andurien? Is that you?" said a barely discernible voice.

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the priest found himself smiling. "Reevan," he breathed with unconcealed relief. "It is good to see you."

"It is good to see _you_!" the other echoed. "When I didn't hear from you, I feared the worst. _What happened?_"

"Tempest Keep has fallen. They hit us hard, and they left nothing but death in their wake." Despite himself, Andurien felt a painful tightness in his chest. He pushed the sensation to the back of his mind. "The prince is gone. Dead... maybe. We haven't found a body, and likely never will. What few survivors remain will travel to Shattrath... and then to Shadowmoon."

There was a brief silence at the other end.

"Who leads them?"

"Sarannis and Freywinn. They managed to escape from the slaughter somehow... many did not." The tightness returned. Andurien took a deep breath. "They still cling to the hope that Illidan will forgive this transgression and somehow restore us to what we once were, but I-"

"He can't. He _won't_, at any rate."

"I know. I did my best to sway them, but-"

"Whatever you did, _don't do it again_."

Andurien blinked once, startled. "I don't understand."

"You cannot allow yourself to be discovered just yet. If they have any suspicions, do your best to clear them as soon as you can. Stay with them throughout the journey. Talk to them. Learn their plans. And tell me _everything_."

A pause, then, "What do you intend to do?"

"I will send word of your coming to Shattrath. If-" the image flickered briefly, and several words were lost "- then so be it. If not... the Scryers _will _be ready."

Andurien nodded curtly. "I must take my leave now. I will contact you again as soon as I am able to."

"_Shorel'aran_. And watch your back."

The orb darkened.

Andurien straightened up. He had been gone for quite some time now, and chances were either Sarannis or Freywinn were bound to ask questions. He looked around. In a corner, he saw a rather unimpressive staff that had somehow eluded the raiders. The staff was made of plain wood rather than mithril or gold, and its maker had clumsily carved a few magic runes on the side. They had clearly done it wrong, but it would take more than an initiate to tell the difference. He shrugged, then picked up the staff. It was as good a weapon as anything else for someone who didn't need one in the first place, and he could always just discard it somewhere along the way if it hindered him too much. He cast one last glance around, hid the orb in an inner pocket of his robes, then began to make his way back to where the rest of the survivors were preparing for their journey.

**6. **

Time seemed to pass differently within the walls of the Black Temple. By now, Vaala was certain she'd wandered around for several hours at least. Still, she barely felt any fatigue. Of course, Illidan's 'gift' probably had a lot to do with this new-found vitality. Her thoughts kept going back to the unusual gem. As a rogue, she'd seen – and stolen – almost every kind of precious stone known to man, orc and elf, but she'd never seen anything like this one.

After some wandering, Vaala had found her way back to the Ashtongue and his well. From there, her steps had carried her further down, towards the vast courtyard that the temple overlooked. It only took a glance for her to realize that these parts housed a much less pleasurable host than the Sunfury and Broken she'd encountered before. Demons roamed freely here. She'd heard a number of rumors that some demons had willingly turned from the Burning Legion and joined Illidan's cause, and the strange, hellish creatures were truly a sight to behold. They towered over everyone else, even the massive orcs of the Fel Horde, and carried themselves with open arrogance. The fel orcs, on the other hand, looked hardly intimidated. They were at least twice as large as any other orcs Vaala had seen so far and, she guessed, twice as deadly, too. They lived to kill, and they were more than fit for the task. This Horde was definitely a force to be reckoned with.

Vaala was unarmed and had cheated death not once, but twice so far. She decided not to chance a third time. It was best to return here once she had a weapon and at least some sort of an idea of what these creatures could do. Fortunately, soon after she found her way back to the upper tier, using a series of connected staircases that led her to the large promenade where she'd encountered Varedis before. Once there, she sat down on a bench and rubbed her temples wearily. For all she'd seen, she couldn't shake off a nagging feeling that she had missed something crucial. Closing her eyes, she recalled the encounter with the blood elf officer, the sudden conversation with the demon hunter, then the raving elder down by the water well, the Ashtongue Broken, the fel orcs, the demons... Something wasn't _right_. For all their differences, _all_ these strange denizens had one thing in common. No, it was not their cause; if anything, their respective loyalties were questionable at best. It was almost like they all knew, on some level, that-

"Of course..."

Vaala had uttered the words out loud, but she didn't care. The answer was glaringly obvious. Everyone here, be it orc, draenei, demon or blood elf, _knew_ that this war could not be won. The temple, perched as it was on the very edge of the world, could not hold out forever. They had no place to run, and the Ashtongue and the Sunfury, at least, looked like they'd lost their will to fight as well. And if, by some miracle, the Aldor, Scryers, Alliance and Horde raiders could all be repelled, the Burning Legion and their Shadow Council puppets could easily wipe out any survivors.

Illidan didn't seem to realize any of this. Rumors in Shattrath City and elsewhere said that the demon lord was too infatuated with his power and believed his stronghold was unbreakable. Vaala could only guess the fate of those who told him otherwise, and shudder at the thought. Common sense told her that she was best playing along until she found an opportunity to escape. Still, there were certainly benefits to be reaped from this strange new allegiance, and she needed time to prove her usefulness if she was to reap any. All in all, it was worth seeing what Illidan himself thought of it, at least.

Vaala stood up, her resolve made. She touched the gem and said, "I need to see you. Now."

The rush of magic came and went so suddenly that, for a second, Vaala felt like her very soul was being ripped apart. She had stepped through portals and used other translocation devices before, but nothing had felt so viral, so _raw_. When her senses returned enough for her to take in her surroundings, she was standing in a vast courtyard surrounded by towering walls. This had to be the very top of the temple... Illidan's private sanctum.

Illidan himself didn't look too pleased with the interruption. "You have news from me already! Well, what is it? Speak!"

Vaala took a deep breath. "My lord..." she began, then paused. What was the best way to say this? Damn it all to hell, the outcome was probably going to be the same. "Did you know that you are losing this war?"

Illidan said nothing at first, but merely glared at her in a way that made his earlier threats become far more present all of a sudden. Vaala summoned all her determination to keep herself from looking away. The moment stretched on.

"What _ever_ do you mean?" Illidan replied at length. "I have the strongest army on this wretched world amassed within these walls! When the time is right, I will strike at my enemies, and they _will_ be obliterated!"

Well, at least he hadn't lashed out at her just yet. "Your army is no good to you _here_," Vaala pressed on, emboldened by that fact. "They may be invincible as long as we stay within the walls, yes, but they are effectively cut off from the rest of your forces... and scattered as they are throughout the valley, those can be of little help in an assault. And trust me, there _will_ be an assault... maybe even sooner than you think."

This, at least, seemed to finally pique Illidan's interest. "What? How do you know that?"

Vaala hesitated. It was best not to reveal exactly _how _she had happened across this information. She wasn't familiar with any details, other than the fact that the Scryers were indeed planning an attack on the Black Temple. Her previous employer had instructed her to infiltrate the ranks and search for any possible weakness in the temple's seemingly impenetrable defenses. Now that she had revealed what little she knew, she suddenly felt uneasy. What if the assault came... and failed? And, more importantly, what if Illidan somehow managed to divine the true connection between herself and-

"Wait... no matter. Let them come. They will fail... and they will die for their foolishness."

The last phrase made Vaala snap out of her concerns and cringe. At that moment, she began to realize the full implications of her new allegiance. She had never truly considered herself a 'Scryer', but had made a name working for the former disciples of Kael'thas nonetheless. They could all die, as far as she was concerned - tragic, seeing how there weren't that many sin'dorei left to begin with, but ultimately irrelevant. However, there was one man whose life was worth more to Vaala than all the other Scryers put together. It was at his request that she'd infiltrated the Black Temple, and he was probably thinking of her even now, wondering why she had yet to return from her ill-fated mission, or perhaps even-

"Is that all?"

Once more, Vaala snapped back to the current conversation. "Actually..." she began in a small voice, wondering how far she could push her luck this time. "Our enemy has been, and will always be, the Burning Legion... but lives are lost in pointless skirmishes every day. If your forces try to drive out the Aldor and the Scryers, they will come back with more men, and even more lives will be lost... which will only serve to weaken us as a whole. Wouldn't it be more prudent to seek allies rather than enemies? Some of the Scryers, at least, would welcome a second chance to join your cause. Surely, they are just as tired of slaughtering their own kin as your own Sunfury..."

Vaala trailed off. Illidan seemed taken aback, if such a thing was even possible. The silence was even more disturbing than any threat he could have made.

"The Scryers... have betrayed me," Illidan said eventually, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "And they will pay the price for their transgression. This world was supposed to belong to me - and, by the Nether, it _will_, if I have to find and kill every last gnat that dares to oppose me with my own hands. As for you..." Illidan inched closer, and Vaala fought the urge to back away. "_Never_ speak of such nonsense in my presence again."

Prudently, Vaala said nothing. Pushing the matter any further would have likely resulted in pain.

"What a curious thing you are," Illidan continued, amusement mingling with resentment now. "You know full well that my patience is _very_ limited with the likes of you. Do you _want _to die?"

Vaala had started wondering the same thing as well, and now she cursed herself for getting carried away after all. "If my thoughts are open to you as you say, then that should be no secret, either," she said lightly.

It was a hopeless bait and, sure enough, Illidan didn't rise to it. "It is painfully obvious that you don't fear me as much as you should," he said, but his voice had lost some of its earlier harshness.

Vaala wasn't nearly as confident as she let show, but she took a small comfort in the fact that Illidan didn't seem to be aware of her insecurity. This, in turns, meant that her mind wasn't as thoroughly exposed as she'd feared. "You don't seem as cruel as everyone else told me you'd be," she answered finally. "Before, I was fully expecting to die - but instead, you offered me sanctuary and a chance to prove myself. I suppose that's why."

Illidan didn't answer. Indeed, he seemed distracted all of a sudden, as if listening to another voice that only he could hear. "I have other, more important matters to deal with," he said at length. "In the meantime, you are to seek Veras Darkshadow or one of his acolytes and get yourself accustomed with the place. He has already been apprised of your situation, but I would still advise that you thread lightly."

Vaala knew the name, and now she cringed at the thought of being anywhere near the shadowy assassin of the Illidari Council. "Can he be trusted, my lord?"

Illidan cackled darkly. "That... is for you to find out, my little spy."

Before she could say anything else, Vaala felt the magical energies of another teleportation spell at work. She barely caught herself from doubling over as she materialized in her chambers, and it took a while before the world stopped spinning this time. Finally, she straightened up and cringed at the nausea brought on by the sudden movement. She felt like curling up on the floor and passing out for a day at least, but there was no time for that now. Veras Darkshadow was waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note:**_

_I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who read, reviewed and fave'd this story so far. Feedback – in any form – __is __an author's best friend, after all :) As for that off-comment about Haack... well... let's just say I've always wanted to say that. Especially after what he did in that latest novel of his. (Rewritten as of 3/11)_

**1.**

Vaala was versatile by nature, and years of working as a spy, mercenary and even assassin if the pay was high enough had taught her that adapting was the key to survival. However, by the time she had become accustomed to her new and unusual predicament, the days she'd spent at the Black Temple were already becoming a blur of cryptic warnings and mismatched information.

Veras Darkshadow had been called by 'important duties' before he could properly see to her needs. Instead, Vaala had been given her choice of armor and weaponry from one of the caches of the sin'dorei under the watchful eye of an assassin who had made no secret of her distaste for Illidan's newest spy. The twin swords she had settled for in the end were long and curved, but surprisingly light and easy to wield. It was almost as if they had a mind of their own... even though Vaala was quick to dismiss the rather unsettling assumption in favor of the more practical advantages they would bring.

As Vaala quickly discovered, the factions employed by Outland's self-proclaimed overlord didn't think much of each other and hardly ever mingled. The Sunfury kept to the upper tiers, while the few chosen demon hunter initiates exiled themselves to the outer promenade of the temple, where they could train in peace. The Ashtongue Broken milled about in the middle and lower portion of the temple, keeping their shady businesses to themselves. The fel orcs were churning out armor and weaponry in giant forges and parading in the front courtyard on their nether drakes, sparring occasionally to break the boredom of having no one else to fight. Finally, the secretive naga kept to the intricate tunnels underneath the temple, doing whatever it was that made them useful enough to be kept around.

The few demons that Vaala encountered in her wanderings had regarded her with unconcealed disdain. It was said that these were the ones to have defected from the Burning Legion and joined Illidan's side, but such a notion was hard to entertain. It was far easier to conceive that they lay in wait for when the Burning Legion would inevitably go on an all-out assault and deal a decisive blow from the inside. As for Illidan himself, the demon lord was every bit as reclusive as the rumors had portrayed him to be. He could still be seen wandering the halls and courtyards of the Black Temple on occasion, and wherever he went, everyone around him scurried to appear as if they worked and trained with selfless dedication. It was little wonder, then, that Illidan still thought his army to be invincible. Vaala knew better by now, but she wisely kept such thoughts for herself. After the one interlude where she had found it in her to question his actions, she was hardly eager to try her luck with him again.

Currently, Vaala was pacing through one of the few gardens that were still somewhat verdant and lush. It was hard to tell the time in the gloomy light of Shadowmoon, but most of the Sunfury were either away on errands or fast asleep. Aside from those, the Black Temple was a haven for rogues and thieves of all kinds, so Vaala kept to the shadows as usual. After all, it was infinitely better to be safe than to wake up in the afterlife wondering who in the hell had sent you there.

_Do you have anything to report?_

By now, Vaala was used to Illidan's presence appearing into her thoughts uninvited and unannounced. Still, she couldn't help a quick swear when the sudden question startled her out of her thoughts. She cast a quick glance around to make sure that she was still alone, then whispered, "Not right now. The Council hasn't met recently, and the Sunfury are going about their business as usual. As for the lower tiers-"

_Those are none of your concern. _A pause, then, _Stay alert and contact me again if you find anything._

With that, the presence was gone again. Vaala sighed. Illidan saw her as useful still, but so far she had done nothing to justify her continued presence here. He was clearly getting impatient, although she could hardly divine what news he expected her to bring. The Sunfury were almost lethargic, going through day after day with little enthusiasm and the knowledge of their predicament weighing heavily on their minds.

A small noise made Vaala instinctively slip further into the shadows. Moments later, a lone Sunfury guard walked past her, almost close enough to touch. Curious, Vaala waited until he took a few more steps, then followed. The night sentries had already passed through the garden once, and they weren't due to return for another hour at least.

The guard stopped just shy of the massive wall that encircled this part of the temple, peered around casually, then took out a bundle of bloodthistle from the satchel he carried and, as Vaala watched him with mild amusement, rolled up a cigarette and lit it. Bloodthistle was a potent drug, made from a plant with the same name that grew in abundance around Eversong Woods. Several puffs of the stuff were enough to put one's mind into a state of pleasant numbness, while at the same time heightening the senses to the point where one could even claim to hear colors and see the shapes of sounds. The stuff was rare in Outland, and those few who still had some provisions from Silvermoon guarded them fiercely. One could make a fortune even from a small pouch.

Several minutes passed. Vaala could smell the sweet smoke coming from the cigarette, and even from a distance it made her feel oddly detached. She shook her head to clear it and decided that she'd seen enough. However, as she turned and began to creep away, the guard extinguished the half-smoked cigarette, stashed it away, and then pulled another object out of his satchel.

Vaala peered closely, cursing her poor vision and the fact that the shadow of the wall obscured most of what the guard was doing. The object he was holding was either round or oval in shape, and it gave off a faint glow – too weak for an arcane crystal, as Vaala had suspected at first. No... this was something else entirely, something that held a powerful magic that even her dulled senses immediately picked up. The orb had to be enchanted... but what purpose did it serve?

Then, suddenly, Vaala remembered learning about mystical orbs that allowed the bearers to communicate with holders of similar artifacts no matter the distance between them. To her knowledge, the Scryers had unearthed a few such artifacts and were using them to keep one other apprised of the situation in various parts of Outland. It wasn't a stretch to assume that Illidan's forces held means of communication such as this one - but then, why bother with such secrecy if-

With a start, Vaala realized that this man wasn't a Sunfury, but likely a Scryer in disguise. She edged closer, careful not to make any noise. The guard was holding the orb at eye level now and his lips were moving. After a few moments, Vaala began to discern the words.

"...and Gathios is having us train harder than ever before. If Illidan finally decides to make a move, I fear that the Sanctum of the Stars will likely be his first target."

Vaala rolled her eyes. Illidan was more than content to brood and wait for the enemy to stumble their way into his stronghold, and maybe even trip and fall on their own swords in the process. Gathios and the rest of the Council, however, knew better than to underestimate the coalition that opposed their master... but, of course, the guard had no way of knowing that.

"This is most concerning," came another voice, from the orb this time. It was faint and distorted, but suddenly Vaala _knew_ that she had heard that voice before - rich and cultured, but also firm and laced with the casual authority of someone used to being in command. In a way, it reminded her of-

Despite her self-control, Vaala couldn't help a sharp intake of breath. If this guard was, indeed, a spy of the Scryers, then the one he was talking to could only be the man who had given her own ill-fated mission several weeks ago. It _had _to be him. The thought of revealing herself came and went, the risks outweighing the benefits of such a clumsy move. Maybe, if she acted quick enough, she could pilfer the orb and wait until Illidan would be distracted to try and contact-

_I see you have discovered a spy._

Vaala turned her thoughts entirely to the situation at hand, mortified at the thought that Illidan had been listening in all along. Her current situation prevented her from answering anything lest she risked being discovered, and so she waited in utter stillness as moments trickled by.

_Kill him._

This wasn't entirely unexpected, but still Vaala felt chilled to the bone at the easiness with which the order had been given. Nevertheless, she reached for her swords and quietly pulled them free. She had no choice but to obey and hope that the risk of her secret being exposed would die with this one man. The guard was still giving his report as Vaala crept even closer, then crouched low, ready to make her move...

...only to freeze as the presence inside the orb spoke once more, "Have you any news of my sister?"

Vaala gripped the swords tighter as her breath caught in her throat. It stood to reason that her brother, of all people, would not accept the thought of her demise so easily. His spies were everywhere, and so he was bound to know that she was alive and working for the enemy. The thought of how much the betrayal would hurt brought with it a pang of true regret, which she quickly pushed away. Her 'master' was watching. She had to act quickly and sever the tie before Illidan could use it to harm the one man Vaala would protect to her dying breath.

The guard never knew what was coming. He dropped to the ground with a strangled cry, clutching his wounded side, and the orb slipped away from his fingers and rolled out of sight. Vaala hesitated for the briefest of moments before she plunged her sword deep into the guard's chest. His body rocked violently for a few more seconds, then went still.

_Well done._

"Thank you, my lord," Vaala said with just enough deference to sound appropriately satisfied with the praise. She took a few moments to compose herself, then wiped the blade clean and returned it to its sheath. For a moment she thought to search for the orb, then she reasoned that there would be time to come back for it later. For now, it was best to be as far away from this garden when the body was found.

**2.**

It was several hours later, and Reevan Dawnstrike was still pacing his chambers at the Sanctum of the Stars and clutching a scrying orb in one hand. The passing of time had done nothing to calm his thoughts. Another life lost... another good man slain in this accursed war. As a spymaster of the Scryers, Reevan knew that his loyalties lay with the Naaru in Shattrath. A'dal wanted to end the menace of the Illidari once and for all, but the demon lord of Karabor was untouchable behind the walls of his fortress. Spies were vital to reveal any flaws that the Illidari might have overlooked, anything that could open the path to victory.

In the meantime, however, the stand-off was beginning to cost even more lives than an all-out assault would have claimed. A number of days prior, Reevan had sent his own sister to the temple, only to have her vanish without a trace. One of his other spies claimed to have seen her once, and that she appeared to have changed sides for whatever reason. That very same man had been slain a mere few hours ago...

Reevan clutched the orb so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Vaala had been the one to end the man's life. There was no mistaking what he had seen, and still her actions made no sense - unless she was, indeed, fighting for the enemy, which was a notion that Reevan doubted he would ever come to terms with. His own concerns aside, Vaala held vital knowledge about the Scryers and their operations in Shadowmoon. Reevan had volunteered every piece of information in exchange for Vaala's own findings, knowing - as she had assured him - that she would pass it on to the Aldor in such a fashion that neither side had to admit that they cared much for other. Now, however, all he could do was hope that Illidan wouldn't learn of what she knew. Otherwise, both the Sanctum of the Stars and the Aldor outpost further north were already in grave danger.

And finally, above all else, Reevan dreaded the moment when he would be forced to raise his blade against his only remaining kin, and while he did treasure Vaala more than anyone else on this or any other world, his duty would force him to see to it that-

Reevan didn't finish that thought. There was no need to act on what he knew just yet. He would gather more information, then find a way to confront Vaala that put neither of them at the risk of being executed as traitors, or worse. He could only hope that there was time enough for that.

**3.**

The Netherstorm felt unnaturally cold and, even with the abundance of raw magic in the air, many of the refugees from Tempest Keep were already falling to the throes of their arcane addiction. The ninth day of their pilgrimage was drawing to a close, and the jagged peaks of the Blade's Edge mountains were only just beginning to show on the horizon. Several had already been lost to the many dangers lurking in the shadows. Warp-chasers – huge, reptilian creatures that could phase in and out of existence at will – had claimed their first victims on the very first night, coming and going before anyone thought to mount up a defense. A rogue elemental had caused many to flee in terror before it was finally subdued by a few of the remaining magisters. And then, some others had simply collapsed and refused to go any further. Those had been left to their own fates.

At the front of the small band, Sarannis turned to watch her followers trudge on through the rocky landscape. She knew that they were already exhausted... but maybe she could push them to walk another mile or two before setting up camp for the night. Provisions were dwindling fast, and the mountains were still at least a day's journey ahead if they kept going at this pace. To make it worse, there were no guarantees that they would find enough beasts to hunt for fresh meat to go around for everyone. For the twentieth time that day, Sarannis found herself wondering if their journey had been doomed from the beginning after all.

Somewhere at the back of the crowd, Andurien was talking to several other refugees as they walked. The priest had proven to be an invaluable aid thus far, his spells serving to invigorate those who threatened to collapse from exertion and his advice giving a small glimmer of hope to those who had none left. Sarannis was too far away to hear what he was saying, but the expressions of the listeners made it clear that the priest did far more than simply recite the prayers and commandments of the Light.

Another hour passed before Sarannis finally gave the signal to stop. Those few who had salvaged tents from the wreckage at Tempest Keep quickly set them up, while many of the others simply collapsed where they stood. Some archers and a handful of blood knights formed a loose circle around the camp, but even they preferred to sit or kneel rather than stand. They would remain on guard for a few hours and then the guard would change, thus allowing everyone to rest and recover for another day of marching. The quicker they left the Netherstorm behind, the better for all.

"Commander. A quick word?"

Sarannis turned, her expression softening just slightly as her eyes met Andurien's. The priest looked far worse for the wear than others did, but he carried himself with a kind of quiet self-assurance that spoke volumes of his devotion nonetheless. "Yes, what is it?" she asked, cringing a little when her own voice sounded hollow and weary to her ears.

"I believe we aren't too far off from a goblin settlement. They have fresh food and water there, and if we're lucky we could even find a mount or two. I could leave now and be back before-"

"Too dangerous," Sarannis interrupted flatly. "If you're going, then I want you to take some of my guards with you. Besides, one man buying too many things at once would definitely raise suspicions, and goblin plunderers are the last thing I want to worry about right now. Oh, and-" she grinned as another idea came "-you may take Freywinn with you as well. He could use the exercise."

Andurien arched an eyebrow. "The botanist? He won't come willingly."

"He won't have a choice," Sarannis answered in a tone that showed she wouldn't take any further objections. "I'll see to it. Now go and get ready before I change my mind."

**4.**

The summon came unexpectedly, as always. One moment, Vaala was tossing and turning in her bed, struggling to keep her mind clear of any thoughts on the previous night's encounter. The next, she was blinking up in confusion as her surroundings had changed from the relative peace and seclusion of her chambers to... to _where_, exactly? She climbed to her feet and struggled to keep her balance as the dizziness that always came with this sort of spell kicked in. She was at the top of the Black Temple again, a place she had become somewhat familiar with in the past weeks. This was where she communed with Illidan on most occasions, even though she saw no sign of the demon lord just yet.

This was the one place of the temple that was generally off-limits for the majority of its denizens. It was also chilling, in the very literal sense of the word. Vaala folded her arms and swore under her breath. Of all the times –

"I apologize for the intrusion," came Illidan's voice from somewhere above and, to Vaala's surprise, he sounded almost sincere. Moments later, the demon lord descended a few feet away and folded his wings with practiced ease. "In hindsight," he continued, "I might as well have given you time to change into something a little more... appropriate."

"You needed something," Vaala pointed out dryly, deliberately steering the conversation away from the subject of her clothes. She usually slept in a frayed robe she'd found laying around in her chambers on her first night, which was a little too loose for her lithe frame and hardly offered any protection against the cold.

"Indeed," Illidan said, casting away his almost-pleasant expression in favor of a predatory grin. He held out one hand to reveal a small, round artifact that Vaala recognized with a start as the orb that the Scryer spy had been using. Illidan didn't miss it. "I see you are already familiar with this artifact. Tell me... what is it?"

"I've never seen one up close, my lord," Vaala answered quickly, and that much was true. "If I'm not mistaken, I believe it can be used to communicate."

Illidan looked extremely pleased all of a sudden. "You are correct. The spy you found the other night carried this one, as you well know, and whoever holds its counterpart already knows too much. I can reverse its magic and trace this gnat, then send one of my finest-" here, Illidan paused a little with a gesture that made it clear he wasn't referring to Vaala, much to her relief "-to take him out."

Vaala felt a chill run down her spine, from the cold as much as Illidan's words. "My lord... I don't think that would be prudent," she blurted out, even though she had little hope of having him change his mind based solely on her words.

Illidan didn't look at all convinced. "Not prudent, you say?" he repeated, and suddenly his sneer reminded her of a feral cat stalking its prey. "And why, dare I ask, would that be?"

Vaala rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. Threats she was used to, but this sort of mock deference was somehow even worse. "I know how the Scryers operate," she said defiantly. "Whatever this... other person knows has already found its way to Shattrath. He'd be replaced within the day. Besides-" here, she paused to collect her thoughts "-now that we have the orb, we might as well use it to our own advantage."

This seemed to have finally struck a chord. "How so?"

"I..." Vaala hesitated, wondering just how much it would be safe to reveal. "I know this man," she said cautiously. "I can feed him false information and make the Scryers spread their forces so thin that they will have no strength to fight and no place to run when your forces attack them from all sides."

"And they will have no choice but to surrender to me..." Illidan mused. "I might even show them mercy, if they agree to leave _my_ valley and take those Aldor wretches with them. Very well! You may have this, as long as you report any progress to me at once."

By now, Vaala was shivering fully, even though the chill of Shadowmoon Valley was long since forgotten. The immensity of what she'd just offered was starting to register at last. Illidan would want results, and she would have no choice but to give them while finding a way to get her brother out of there before it was too late. "May I go now?" she asked in a small voice.

Illidan waved a hand dismissively. "Yes... yes, of course.I will summon you again when I have need of you. For now, you may go and rest."

Despite the order, Vaala barely slept that night.

**5.**

By now, Sarannis was certain that Andurien was nothing short of a miracle worker.

The priest and his companions had returned from Area 52 with several mounts and enough fresh provisions to last for a fortnight at least. Sarannis learned that the rest of the party had been ordered to wait outside the settlement, and no-one knew with whom the priest had bargained. Andurien had brushed off all questions and gone to rest without a word. Not knowing everything that had transpired was infuriating, but for now, Sarannis was content to leave him be. His accomplishments had more than made up for such a small affront.

Others, however, did not think in the same way. Freywinn was one of the most vocal of those. Even though he'd gotten himself a brand new mount from the endeavor, the botanist was ever a complainer. Now that the night had passed and the refugees were on the move once more, he had all the time in the world to voice his displeasure. "I still don't understand why _I_ had to spend half my night trailing that priest of yours," he said now, prodding his hawkstrider closer to Sarannis' own mount so they could talk undisturbed.

"You were supposed to keep an eye on what he does and report back," Sarannis replied, more than annoyed by this point. Still, she did her best to keep her temper in check. It wouldn't do for the others to see their leaders bicker like commoners.

"Well, he wouldn't let me," Freywinn said testily.

Sarannis rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. "I'd figured you'd be more _resourceful_," she shot back.

"Resourceful! What's there to do when you have goblins pointing all sorts of devices at you and you're told that the only way to keep your head in its proper place is to _stay put_?"

"Certainly the priest didn't put the goblins up to that!"

"And how can you know that he didn't?"

From some distance away, Andurien watched the two with a small smile. Thus far, neither of them suspected his true allegiance, and that was more than he'd hoped after offering his help on the previous night. Things in Area 52 had gone better than he'd expected so far. His brief encounter with Spymaster Thalodien – the overseer of all Scryer operations in Netherstorm and the upper half of Draenor – had yielded new - if slightly concerning - information. Illidan Stormrage was about to make his move in Shadowmoon Valley, while the Aldor and the Scryers were closer than ever to forging an ever-elusive truce. And then, there was the issue of one lost spy. Andurien had met with her briefly in Shattrath, and her cold demeanor and piercing stare had unnerved him ever so slightly. He had no doubt that Vaala Dawnstrike – sister to Spymaster Dawnstrike at the Sanctum of the Stars, whom Andurien counted among his few true friends – was highly adept at surviving on her own. Her disappearance after a failed mission inside the Black Temple was ill news indeed.

Back to more pressing matters, Thalodien had also mentioned that more than a few paths on the road to Shattrath had recently been reclaimed by the various ogre tribes that dwelt high up in the mountains. The ogres weren't the only danger that lurked within the continent they were about to cross, however. There was talk of wild beasts twice the size of a man, unbound elementals and even a new breed of dragons that swooped down on unsuspecting travelers from above. Andurien had yet to share any of this with Sarannis or any other of the refugees, fearing that it would bring him under even closer scrutiny.

"Excuse me...?"

The small, anxious voice shook Andurien out of his thoughts. A woman had approached him unnoticed and stood before him now. Her tattered clothes were those of a warp-engineer, and a pair of green-tinted work goggles rested high on her forehead. "What is it, child?" he asked, keeping his voice purposefully soothing. She looked on the verge of collapsing where she stood.

"I... I've seen you talk to others along the way, and I was wondering..."

Andurien nodded even before she finished the hesitant question, easing his expression into a smile. As he half-listened to her talk about her fears and woes, he resigned to thinking of how best to break the news to Sarannis later that day.

**6.**

The Dragonmaw had staged another raid on the Sanctum of the Stars. Fel orcs were not famed for their intelligence, but both the raiders and their dragon mounts fought with unbridled savagery. In the end, the assault had ended with several Scryers dead and one rider maimed, but still alive, and then the Dragonmaw had rode off into the distance, too far away for either arrows or spells to reach.

Alone once more, Reevan busied himself with reviewing newly-arrived correspondence from Shattrath. Voren'thal – whom most of his followers called 'The Seer' – was not so insightful after all, if his latest missive was to be taken to heart. The letter forbade any and all alliances with the Aldor, while at the same time it hinted at the possibility of a full-out strike against the Dragonmaw. If Voren'thal lived under the impression that the Scryers were invincible, Reevan knew better than that. Their position was precarious enough as it were. They could hardly afford to turn down any help the Aldor might offer.

A sudden rush of energy made Reevan look up from the papers spread on his desk. His eyes scanned the room quickly and found the source of the disturbance. The arcane orb he'd left on a small stand since the night before had stirred at last. He felt his heart skip a beat, although outwardly his expression remained the same. Calmly, he reached out and cast a quick spell, summoning the orb to his outstretched palm. Small runes skittered across the surface and mist swirled inside, which meant that someone was attempting to contact him from a similar device. Finally, a silhouette began to take shape.

"We haven't much time, so listen closely," Vaala said as soon as he could see and hear her with enough clarity.

Despite his lingering uncertainties, Reevan felt a wave of relief wash over him. "You live," he observed, keeping his voice level.

The image of his sister nodded, "As you can see. I managed to steal this orb-"

"-from one of my men, whom you killed."

A pause, then, "It had to be done. Illidan was on to him, and if one of your spies was found, he could be forced to expose the others. All in all, I did you a favor, even though I'm not proud of it."

Reevan waited until it became clear that Vaala had nothing else to add. "Very well," he said reluctantly. "Tell me what you've learned."

"The Sunfury will strike against the Aldor soon, with Dragonmaw archers supporting them from above. Gathios himself will be leading the assault, but I couldn't say how many soldiers he'll bring. I also overheard some talk of a powerful artifact being brought over from Eclipse Point. I still don't know what it is or who will be charged with it... though, whoever it is, they'll probably have a small escort that wouldn't draw too much attention." Vaala paused to look over her shoulder, and then lowered her voice to a whisper. "One more thing," she continued. "There has been talk of an uprising at Netherwing Ledge. The Murkblood miners devastated the place. Illidan doesn't know it yet – presumably because whoever breaks it to him will be killed on the spot – but when he finds out, he'll probably send his drake riders to cull the place either way. If you want to cripple the Dragonmaw, you'll have to storm their outpost before they have a chance to do that. Without ore to forge new weapons and eggs to hatch into new mounts, they won't be bothering you for a long time."

Reevan pondered all this in silence. The new information could certainly be useful, but a small, nagging voice at the back of his mind insisted that he shouldn't trust any of it until he knew for certain where Vaala's own loyalties lay. "I see," he said eventually. "Now, tell me... should I trust any of this to be true?"

**7.**

Vaala kept her expression in check even as her mind raced. Illidan was still watching and listening from deep within her thoughts, ready to pass judgment on whether or not her plan was worthy of being carried out. Her entire gambit revolved around this moment. If she couldn't clear her brother's suspicions, then she would have to find a way to warn him of the danger and get him out of the valley before Illidan's agents reached him, and that would be even trickier than earning his trust again. "You have nothing but my word for it," she said tentatively. "Have I ever led you astray before?" '_Until now, anyway,_' she thought bitterly, but her actions were nothing if not necessary to protect them both. "They trust me here, unlike your other spies," she went on when he didn't say anything. "For all it's worth, I believe that everything I told you is true."

Silence hung in the air, thick and foreboding, until finally Reevan seemed to reach a decision. "I will pass on this information and see to it that the Scryers move accordingly," he said quietly, but Vaala didn't miss the subtle change in his voice that meant he wouldn't be in such a haste to act after all. Then, softer, he added, "I was worried about you, Vaala."

"I believe there is no need for such sentiments between us, _sir_," Vaala said stiffly, fervently praying that he'd would take the hint and not pursue the matter any further. It was best to have Illidan think that Reevan was nothing but an officer to her, or even a disgruntled lover, and that she didn't care nearly as much for him as he did for her.

If Reevan was surprised by her reaction, he didn't show it. "Of course," he said after a few moments, and silently Vaala applauded his very believable mimicry of dejection. "Either way, do watch your back. I need you _alive _out there. And should you come across any of my men – " a small, mirthless smile " – I would appreciate it if you _didn't_ kill them this time."

"I'll try not to," Vaala answered lightly.

As the figure inside the orb shimmered and faded away, Vaala shook her head sadly. The wheels were already set in motion, and there was nothing to be done about it now. It was time for another gamble, one that would be even riskier than the last. She set the orb aside, touched her locket and said, "My lord... this isn't all. He may still be suspicious-"

_You claimed he trusted you fully_, came the retort, along with a vivid and highly unpleasant image of what would happen to her if she lied.

"He _does_ trust me, of course," Vaala said hurriedly, "but he will still require some sort of proof. If you move against the Aldor now, the Scryers will probably assist them, thinning their numbers even further. I know for a fact that Voren'thal and his officers in Shattrath would be the first to oppose such a move, and this might even spark enough discord to prevent any further talks of an alliance."

_A notion worth considering_, Illidan agreed. _You are more cunning than I gave you credit for, it seems. Perhaps I should have you lead my Sunfury instead of those scheming fools...?_

Vaala shrugged a shoulder lazily to hide a sudden flutter of excitement. "I'd be no good at it, my lord."

_Is that so...? Well, your loyalty thus far does warrant some manner of reward still. What would you want?_

"Yes, I suppose it does," Vaala said with forced nonchalance even as her mind struggled to consider and sort all the possibilities that Illidan's sudden generosity would offer. "I'll be sure to think about it once your forces deal with the Aldor. For now, however, I want nothing." '_Nothing more than to know my brother is safe_,' her mind added stubbornly. She pushed the thought away.

_As you wish. _

Vaala's thoughts were still reeling long after Illidan's presence had receded. Her alleged reward hinged on a surgical strike against a fortified and rather resilient enemy who would undoubtedly be prepared for the attack. The Aldor were hardly known for their skills in battle, relying on their pet Naaru to even the odds. But with the Sunfury in such a deplorable state victory was hardly assured nonetheless unless the scales were somehow tipped in favor of the Illidari somehow...

Vaala drew one of her swords and whirled it around expertly, smiling as another thought came, and suddenly, she knew _exactly_ what she had to do.

**8.**

In any other part of Draenor, a new day would have long since dawned. Commander Arcus, overseer of the Aldor defenses at the Altar of Sha'tar, paced the ancient courtyard, turning a piece of parchment over and over in his hands. Nobody knew how the letter had come to rest outside the commander's tent. It looked as though whoever wrote it had been in great haste. The ink was barely dry and smeared in several places. Still, there was no mistaking the alien calligraphy. A Scryer agent had been there the night before.

_The Betrayer will strike soon_, the missive began. _However, rest assured that you will not be facing the armies of Karabor alone. __We offer our aid knowing full well that your people would do the same for us. _The Scryers are ready to fight - and die - by your side. 

Arcus read the letter one more time with a frown. So... it had come to this, at last.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:**__  
Once again, thank you kindly for your reviews and feedback! __This chapter is where the __real__ action kicks off. (Rewritten as of 3/16) _

**1.**

"One must admit, these mountains _are _beautiful... In a dangerous, savage sort of way, of course, but-"

"Perhaps _one _would be better off keeping alert since _one _knows full well how treacherous these mountain paths can be, hm?"

Freywinn and Sarannis glared at each other in a stand-off that neither were willing to break quite yet.

"You Bloodwarders have no eye for beauty," the botanist grumbled finally, choosing to be the wiser one this one time.

Sarannis pretended to ignore him. Freywinn did tend to complain a lot, but on the rare occasions that he wasn't, his insights were usually worth taking notice of, and this one time was no exception. The jagged peaks of the Blade's Edge Mountains were, indeed, breathtaking - and, if she were to be completely honest with herself, Sarannis had to admit that she was more than glad to see the clear red skies of Draenor instead of the unpredictable tempests of the Netherstorm. There were no pent-up magical energies here, no arcane vortexes that could spiral out of control and tear the world asunder and, better yet, no sudden discharges that could reduce an unsuspecting bystander to a pile of ashes in the blink of an eye, as had happened when-

Sarannis shook her head forcefully and the memory went away. To distract herself further, she looked back over her shoulder to the refugees that trudged on behind them. The path was narrow here, providing barely enough space for two hawkstriders to walk abreast, and spikes of rock lined it on either side. Their passing raised small clouds of reddish dust from the parched earth, which made the air thicker and harder to breathe at times. That aside, however, Sarannis suddenly realized that the canyon they were crossing was the perfect place for an ambush... and, if that happened, they would have no place to run and no room to properly fight.

"I don't like this," Sarannis said loudly. Then, she turned in the saddle and gave the signal to stop.

"Of course you wouldn't, that's what I just _said_," Freywinn muttered with unmasked satisfaction.

Sarannis rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything in response to the obvious taunt. "We will rest here for a while," she announced when she was certain she had the attention of all of her followers.

Some of the blood elves closest to the two leaders immediately collapsed where they stood, their expressions a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion, and more followed their example as the order was passed on to those at the back. Sarannis let them rest for several minutes as she gathered her thoughts. They were already half a day's journey into the mountains, too far gone to turn around and look for a safer path through. Aside from the fact that their provisions were hardly enough to last the journey as they were, there was no telling whether or not they would find such a path or be forced to come this way again. The quicker they left the mountains behind, the better. In order to do that, however, they would have to be prepared for whatever dangers lay ahead, which meant that some volunteers would be needed to scout ahead. It pained her to demand such a thing when resting time was already scarce at best... but the comfort of those few would be sacrificed for the survival of all.

Several hands were raised before Sarannis even had time to finish her request. That three of the volunteers were former Bloodwarder guards, as she noted with a touch of pride. Two others were engineers if their clothes were any indication, and the last one had served as Freywinn's personal assistant back on the Botanica. All were on their way before long, with clear orders to separate as soon as the path allowed it and cover as much terrain as they could.

"Was that really necessary?" Freywinn inquired in that obnoxious way of his when Sarannis finally returned to the front of the column and sat down with a heavy sigh.

Sarannis arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"There are no dangers here that I know of," Freywinn explained with a lazy shrug. "I know because I used to send my scientists out here to collect samples all the time, and if those airheads made it through and back, then we will certainly-

"And how long ago was that, Freywinn?" Sarannis cut in, annoyed. "A year? A month? Things can change much quicker than that! Just look..." She noticed that others were beginning to look their way and lowered her voice to a furious whisper, "...look where we are now. And all it took was for some wretched engineer to mistake a handful of Scryers for some of our men and lower the defenses of Tempest Keep - the _one_ safe haven we had left! Go on, to look me in the eye and tell me that we're safe here. I _dare_ you!"

Freywinn looked down in mute embarrassment. For once, he had nothing to say. This was the problem with scientists, Sarannis thought wryly as she watched him stand up and pointedly walk away. They spent so much time engrossed in whatever it was they did that they ended up falling out of touch with how things worked in the real world. And right now, regardless of what Freywinn did or didn't know, chances were that several unnamed but very _real _dangers lurked on the path ahead.

"Our botanist is rather carefree, isn't he?"

Sarannis started a little before she recognized the voice. "He could do with a little perspective, yes," she said, turning to face her new companion.

Andurien laughed a little, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He sat down next to Sarannis without waiting for an invitation, not seeming care whether he was intruding or not. "The goblins volunteered some... interesting information about these parts," he said after. "The ogre tribes are at war with each other, but they are hardly known to wander this close to the edge of the continent. On the other hand, this path will take us to the vicinity of a rather sizable Burning Legion outpost, which-"

"We still have a pact with the Legion," Sarannis said defiantly even as she fought to hide a sudden wave of anxiety. "They wouldn't attack their allies... would they?" She all but whispered the last two words, reluctant to let even the smallest hint of uncertainty show.

Andurien held her gaze calmly. "With Kael'thas gone, I doubt that pact still stands."

There was a brief moment of silence, then, "I see."

"Other than that," Andurien went on, "we have only to keep away from any other settlements we might find along the way."

"Don't play games with me, priest. I take it you know _exactly_ where those are located, and that you'll keep us on a path that will put none at the risk of a pointless confrontation."

Andurien didn't look at all fazed with the dripping sarcasm. "Generally speaking... yes."

"And the _goblins _told you all this, didn't they? Either they owed you one _damn_ big favor, or you spent a small fortune getting all this information. _Or_-" Sarannis held up a finger "- you spoke with someone else there. If memory serves, some of the Scryers were frequent patrons of the goblin inn at Area 52. Did you see any, by chance?"

"I did."

They studied each other in silence, each pondering their next move. For her part, Sarannis realized that, even if her suspicions were true, acting against the priest in any way would only serve to cause discord among the refugees. Some already owed him their lives, and there were even a few who openly worshipped him. If a fight _did_ break out-

_No. _There _wouldn't be _any fighting if Sarannis could help it. "Tell me your intentions, and be honest with me. I need to know that much, at least."

"I want to see us all safely to Shattrath," Andurien answered levelly. "What happens beyond that is none of my concern."

"The Scryers will not suffer _any _of us there for very long," Sarannis said heatedly. "You may be safe from their wrath, but for the Sunfury there can be no reconciliation, not after everything they've done! They were so eager to prove themselves to their damn Naaru that they didn't think twice about slaughtering their own kind! They may claim to offer us amnesty now, but I, for one, will have _none_ of it!"

Andurien shook his head sadly. "It pains me... to see our race thus further divided. High elf and blood elf, Scryer and Sunfury... it seems as though we never learn." He stood up with a sigh. "You have a right to make your own decisions, commander. But when the time comes, each will be free to choose for themselves, and you might not like their choice."

"I couldn't care less!" Sarannis shouted after him as he walked off, but he didn't so much as turn around. Alone once more, the commander kicked at a nearby rock in frustration. The Scryers were the enemy. The war-

-was over for the Sunfury, though, wasn't it? Tempest Keep was gone. Kael'thas was no more. Even the Black Temple, Illidan's seat of power, was an uncertainty at best and nowhere near the paradise that the blood elves had once been promised. How many times had their race endured a harsh pilgrimage driven by false hope? How many more times would they be doomed to walk the same path before they would finally _learn?_

Then again, what else was there to do...?

'_Action_,' Sarannis reminded herself firmly. It kept everyone focused, if only on putting one foot before the other until they couldn't walk anymore and they were too tired to think about anything but food and sleep. The refugees had rested long enough. The scouts were already far enough to give timely warnings if there was any danger waiting ahead.

It was time to move on.

**2.**

The courtyard of the Black Temple served mainly as a training ground for the fel orc clans that served the Illidari. Vaala had learned to tell them apart by what they did and found, to her mild amusement, that their respective clan names were strangely appropriate oftentimes. The Dragonmaw elite were nigh inseparable from their nether drakes, and attaining such a mount was a sign of great prestige among them. The orcs of the Bleeding Hollow and the Laughing Skull clans were formidable fighters in their own rights, but the former preferred a head-on approach to battle while the others were fond of the more subtle tactics of ambushing and assassination. On the other hand, the warlocks of the Shadowmoon clan - after whom the valley was named - were far more elusive, practicing their spells within the temple's inner sanctum and rarely showing their faces elsewhere. Finally, the Bonechewer orcs... didn't distinguish themselves through much, apart from a ravenous appetite that truly befitted their name.

Presently, Vaala stood in the courtyard, feeling very pointedly out of place. The Dragonmaw were leery of any outsiders wandering into their territory, and the fact that she was here with a request of her own did little to help matters. She needed a netherdrake, and she wouldn't go anywhere until she acquired one. The drake riders were, of course, hardly willing to part with any of their prized mounts. The two that Vaala had asked so far had laughed in her face, then made it very clear that any insisting on her part would be met with a considerable amount of violence.

"What's little elf doing here?"

Vaala spun around, coming face to face with a rather imposing fel orc woman clad in a leather harness that marked her as a rider. One of her hands was already on the hilt of a massive two-bladed axe that rested at her belt. She had the look of one who was used to giving orders rather than following them.

Perfect.

"I need a drake," Vaala said calmly, keeping her hands to her sides and doing her best to look equal parts harmless and defying.

The woman tossed back her head with a hearty laugh. "Elf doesn't need drake!" she roared. "My drake eats elf in battle! If I give you my drake, my drake eats _you_!"

The orcs that were close enough to hear laughed at this too. Vaala smirked a little, then took a deep breath. "Right," she said. Orcs valued displays of brute strength usually, but speed and subtlety weren't lost on their race, either. Before any of them had time to grasp what was happening, one of Vaala's swords was already resting against the other woman's throat, pressing with just enough force to make it clear that any other hostile act would be a free ticket to suicide. "Now then," she said pleasantly. "About that drake."

"You fight with no honor," the woman said, and spat.

"I like things the easy way," Vaala answered with a shrug.

The other orcs were no longer laughing. Several inched closer and motioned to unsheathe their own weapons, which meant that Vaala had no way of letting go now without putting herself at the risk of being gutted by several orcish blades at once, because even this degenerate breed of orcs still held on to a twisted sort of honor which-

'_Oh_,' Vaala thought suddenly, realizing that she could still turn the situation in her favor if she played her cards right. "On the other hand," she continued, "if an honorable fight is what you're after, then I'm willing to do that, too." Speaking, she stepped back, releasing the other. "I challenge you. The winner takes the drake."

"I'll crush you!"

With that, they clashed. The woman handled her axe with impressive strength, but that was all the leverage she had. Her stance was awkward and her swings were wide and easy enough to avoid. Still, somehow, each time Vaala struck back, the axe of her opponent was there to deflect her blows. Other orcs had gathered around in a wide circle, cheering and jeering as the scales of victory swayed one way or the other. This was quickly turning out to be more trouble than it was worth.

Soon, Vaala began to realize that she had no hopes of besting this foe by fighting 'honorably' after all. She couldn't back out of the fight now, and so she decided to end it quickly and hope that a decisive victory would shield her from the collective bloodlust of the other orcs. She crouched low, dodging another clumsy attack, then swept the other's legs from under her. As the woman struggled to get up, Vaala pinned one of her wrists down with her foot and once again rested the tip of her blade against her throat.

"I am... bested," the defeated orc panted as the other orcs began to mutter and growl. "Finish it."

Vaala pretended to consider this for a few moments. "No need to," she said finally. "Lord Illidan would disapprove of me killing a worthy warrior such as yourself, I'm sure."

_I wouldn't mind__, actually,_ came Illidan's voice, almost as if on cue. _Your performance was fairly entertaining, but I must ask... what would a spy like you require a nether drake for? Surely, you aren't thinking of running away?_

"Of course not," Vaala hissed under her breath, glaring around to make sure no-one else heard the words. "I know it's a stretch, but I'll need you to trust me on this one." As an afterthought, she added, "Please?"

There was no answer, which meant that Illidan had probably decided to leave her to her own affairs, at least for now. Inwardly, Vaala breathed a sigh of relief. The other orcs were beginning to scatter, likely to avoid the embarrassment of seeing one of their commanders beaten by one who wasn't even of their own race.

"Well fought," the orc woman said grudgingly. "Come."

Vaala nodded and followed, wondering if that would be the end of it after all. That question was answered a few minutes later, when she found herself gaping at a rather impressive netherdrake. The beast was probably a light shade of blue, although its coloration kept changing ever so slightly as it clawed at the ground and flapped its wings idly. Vaala arched an eyebrow as she noted that the wings themselves were almost translucent, offering a foggy view of the ramparts behind it. How _did_ these things manage to keep afloat, anyway?

"Her name is Skybane," the orc woman said proudly. "She carried me in many battles."

So, the drake was a 'she'. For a moment, Vaala wondered how one could tell the difference when there were no outward changes in shape or size between the males and females of their species. "And... _she _won't eat me, then?" she ventured. It never hurt to make sure of such things.

This earned her a devious grin. "Maybe. Or maybe not."

'_Great_,' Vaala thought as she mounted. For a moment, she almost regretted not having purchased a dragonhawk from the tamers in Shattrath before setting on the journey to Shadowmoon. She had only flown on a netherdrake once before*, and that one had been intelligent enough to communicate and - even more importantly - to do its best so that the rider wouldn't fall out of the saddle or Sun knew what else. This one didn't seem too keen on doing anything but turning its head and blinking at her with a sort of lazy incomprehension.

Vaala tugged at the reins inexpertly and nudged the drake with her knees. Apparently, one gesture or the other meant something, because Skybane shook herself once, broke into a trot, then suddenly crouched, jumped and spread her wings. A moment later, both rider and mount soared over the outer wall and into the valley beyond, going at a speed that made Vaala grip the reins tightly and narrow her eyes against the rush of wind. Steering was hardly an issue, as she found when she pulled on the left rein more than the right by accident and Skybane banked obediently in that direction. All in all, aside from the inherent dangers of being a very visible target and vulnerable to anything coming from directly below, flying didn't seem all that bad.

_Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me as to what your intentions are?_

Illidan's voice was back, and insofar as Vaala could tell, it 'sounded' rather impatient this time. Nevertheless, she was marginally thankful for the distraction it provided. The thought of being this high up in the air, with nothing but a possibly capricious beast between her and a deadly drop, was suddenly very uncomfortable. "Your Council aren't as useless as they seem," she replied. "One of them – the nethermancer, I believe – is already plotting on cutting off the head of the beast, so to speak."

_The Aldor leadership?_

"Exactly. I figured I might as well do my best to be of assistance with that... in-between gathering fresh information for you, of course."

_And you intend to take them out single-handedly? _The words were dripping with sarcasm.

"Not... yet. This time, I intend to fly overhead and scout their defenses and pinpoint who gives the orders and who follows them. Then, I can stealth back and put some of the former out of commission. If all goes well, the Aldor will be left leaderless and ready to be crushed by Gathios and his men."

_This plan is far more daring than I would expect of one such as you... _The words came with a subtle wave of suspicion. _Are you so eager to prove yourself now that you are willing to risk your life in my service?_

"Your victory is my gain," Vaala answered with as much pathos as she could muster. There was another facet to her plan, one that she prayed fervently that Illidan wouldn't divine. As long as she kept his focus on the Aldor, the Scryers would be left alone, which meant that Reevan, too, would be safe. "Besides... I was bored," she added in a small voice, and that, too, was true. There was only so much snooping around she could do before others grew suspicious and it was far too soon to risk any inquiries.

_Very well... I will allow this little incursion of yours. Do keep yourself from being captured, though. I might not find it in me to intervene. _

The presence retreated abruptly and Vaala sighed with unbridled relief. Letting herself fall into the hands of the Aldor was the last thing she planned. After all, their animosity towards the Scryers was notorious, and the fact that she wore the tabard of the Illidari hardly offered a viable alternative. The fact that she could now leave the Black Temple freely was a small victory, at least.

A little while later, something unusual caught Vaala's eye on the path below. She pulled on the reins abruptly, making the drake jerk to a stop in mid-air and flap its wings furiously to keep afloat. Even though the height made her stomach turn, she leaned over and chanced a second look towards the ground. Her lips form a silent 'Oh'. There was no mistaking what she had seen.

"Take us down," Vaala whispered to her mount, nudging it lightly with her knees to emphasize the command. "And keep us out of sight."

_ _ _  
_* This happened in a one-shot story, 'Trust', which can be read on my profile. _

**3.**

Sarannis had a keen eyesight even in the hazy glow of the twilight. She spotted the runner long before anyone else and identified her as one of the scouts - not a Bloodwarder, but Freywinn's former assistant. She was waving her hands and shouting long before she was within earshot, clearly distressed about something. Sarannis gave the signal to stop and prodded her hawkstrider forward. The runner was already slowing, clearly exhausted. Suddenly she stumbled, then fell to her knees. Something was very, _very_ wrong.

By the time Sarannis reached her, the scout had recovered enough to stand, although she was shaking so badly it was a wonder that she didn't collapse again. "The... the mountain," she gasped without waiting to be questioned. "It came alive!" She buried her face in her hands, and her next words were muffled and barely intelligible. "It... it took Nola... it's after me... me, now!" Whatever else she was going to say was cut off by a long, heart-wrenching sob.

Sarannis frowned. "What do you mean, the mountain – by the Sun, _keep your wits about you!_" She shook the girl's shoulder forcefully. "Where are the others? What happened to them?"

"Too far ahead... couldn't help... didn't... see..."

"What happened?" came another voice.

Sarannis looked over her shoulder and saw that Freywinn had made his way to them unnoticed and was now glancing down from the saddle of his own hawkstrider, appearing none too moved by the scout's distress. "I didn't really get that," she answered with a half-shrug. "Something about the mountain coming to life and someone missing-"

"Oh, _no_."

Somehow, those two words were more unnerving than the notion of being ambushed by living rock. Freywinn had never looked so panicked before, not even after being told that his experiments had either gone missing or been destroyed. The thought to remind him that not a day before he'd claimed the pass was absolutely _safe _came and went. Now was hardly the time to bicker. "_Well?_" she demanded. "Are you going to make a scene like this girl here, or are you going to tell me what in the _hell_ it is that you just realized?"

"A gronn..." Freywinn answered, his voice almost a whisper. "I heard talks about them, but I never thought they would wander this far away from their lair. They're supposed to be very territorial, almost like-"

"_Stop_. First of all, what is a 'gronn'? And how do you-"

"A stone giant, and I know things like that because I've been studying the creatures native to this world since we arrived, _as you well know._" The reproach in the last few words was almost tangible. "The gronn are even larger than their lesser elemental counterparts and very, _very _resilient. I'd say one would be difficult to take down even with our numbers. I'd suggest we rest here for the night and deal with it in the morning. If it comes down to battle, we're going to need all the rest we can get."

"You're probably right-" Sarannis began.

And then, they all heard it. It was a low, ear-splitting noise, like the sound made by two slabs of rock grinding against each other. It went on for a while, then stopped just as abruptly as it had begun.

The scout looked up, her features a mask of pure terror. "It's coming..." she whimpered, her voice so small that Sarannis wasn't even sure she'd heard the words.

The dusk grew silent.

Sarannis straightened up, deliberately turning her thoughts away from fear and other such nonsense. "How do we kill it?" she asked, lowering her voice so that only Freywinn could hear.

Freywinn grimaced in a way that made it obvious he wasn't at all convinced that they could pull such a feat. "Swords and arrows won't work, even I can tell that much. We need _magic_, and powerful magic at that."

Sarannis surveyed the throng of refugees thoughtfully. "Our magisters are exhausted, just like everyone else," she whispered. "Suppose we-"

The noise came again, from somewhere closer this time.

"Before you say anything else, there's one more thing about the gronn that you should know about..." Freywinn said darkly.

The ground shook once with a menacing thump.

"...They like to play with their food."

**4.**

As they came closer to the ground, Vaala realized that there was no need for caution after all. Skybane landed in a graceful crouch, but that did little to soften the impact and the rider was more than grateful to jump down and feel solid rock under her feet once more. "Stay here," she whispered to the drake, even though it probably wasn't bright enough to tell the difference between 'stay' and 'fly'.

They were on the path that connected the north and south ends of the valley now, far enough from the temple that the ramparts were partly obscured by the mists of the valley, but still close enough for the sounds of what went on within to drift on the wind every now and then. These days, the only living souls that walked this road were the occasional patrols sent to make sure that no enemies of the Illidari would survive long enough to return with whatever intelligence they may have gathered. Adventurers hardly ever had the heart to come this close to the edge of the world, and for good reasons, too. There were dangers here far worse than even the Sunfury - mutated creatures with hides as tough as fel steel that could breathe fire and noxious clouds, disembodied spirits whose wails could make anyone go mad, even feral orcs whose primal bloodlust had driven them to the point of no return.

Judging by the corpses strewn on the path, it seemed that some of the Aldor had been foolish enough to ignore all the warnings and venture out here anyway.

'_Strange_', Vaala thought as she prodded one of the corpses with the tip of her boot. Draenei were hardly known for recklessness, of all things, even though they had a tendency towards underestimating danger and relying on their vaunted Light to protect them in the face of insurmountable odds. This party, however, had been ambushed and killed with the sort of ruthless efficiency that likely hadn't left them any chance to react. Most had fallen to crude arrows, fired with enough force to pierce through leather armor and even embed themselves in solid plate. The Dragonmaw probably had a hand in this... although some of the bodies bore sword wounds, too clean and too precise to have been made by the jagged weapons that the orcs were known to wield. They were the work of one assassin at least, and a skilled one at that.

There was one more thing that didn't quite look as it belonged. Unlike most races on Azeroth, draenei blood was a light shade of blue. The corpses were drenched in it and there were splatters of it on the ground, most of them made by blood gushing out of wounds, but some too large in shape to look like anything but-

Vaala tilted her head to one side. Now _this _was interesting. Anyone else might have missed the tracks that headed off the path and into a maze of rocky outcrops and jagged spikes that built up towards the west. The road was covered with gravel too rough for even plate boots to leave anything but the most shallow of impressions, and the tracks were seemingly erratic, as though who ever made them had doubled back several times in an attempt to confuse any pursuit. Vaala put two and two together quickly, and came to the conclusion that one of the Aldor had survived the ambush, because their footprints were too large to have been made by anything else. She drew her swords, glanced back to find that Skybane hadn't moved at all from her spot and finally started off in the same direction as the tracks did.

Soon, the trail became considerably easier to follow as the one survivor - likely a man, since draenei women had much smaller hooves - had abandoned caution in favor of putting as much distance between himself as the path as possible. He was likely wounded, but Vaala remained cautious. In spite of their peaceful ways, draenei were fierce fighters once cornered, wounded or not, and had the Light at their beck and call.

It didn't take long for a pained, labored breath to reach Vaala's ears. She dropped into a crouch and listened. After a few moments, she grinned a little. The draenei certainly didn't sound like he was in any shape to fight back.

"Do you so... enjoy... skulking in the shadows... like a rat...?"

Vaala started a little when, despite her instinctive caution, the draenei called her out. The voice had come from somewhere nearby - and sure enough, as she rounded a particularly large bounder, Vaala came face to face with her intended quarry. The draenei was in far worse shape than she'd anticipated. He sat with his back against a small mound, clutching at his side with one arm while the other hung limply at his side. Several broken arrow shafts littered the ground. How he'd managed to crawl this far was nothing short of impressive. Then again, the draenei were nothing if not a race that was too stubborn to simply lie down and die.

"Get on with it," the draenei groaned, and closed his eyes.

Vaala paused. This one could be useful... maybe. If not, she could always oblige and put him out of his misery later on. For now, however, she wasn't about to waste this unexpected opportunity. "If you're so eager to die, do it yourself. Otherwise, I'm here to help."

The draenei opened his eyes to glare at her. "I thought your kind would never..." Whatever else he was going to say was lost in a weak cough.

'_Your kind._' The two words stung more than Vaala cared to admit. Her 'kind' were a broken and divided people that weren't above killing those of the same blood for the delusions of one leader or another. "I'm one of a kind," she said, perhaps a bit too harshly. "Now stop talking and concentrate on keeping that wound from bleeding out."

"What... do you intend to do?" the draenei gasped, trying and failing to pull away as Vaala knelt down next to him.

"For starters, patch you up," Vaala answered distractedly as she surveyed his wounds. The only one of immediate concern was a long gash that the draenei clutched at with his one good arm. The few bandages and other medicinal supplies she kept in a pouch that she hardly ever parted with would definitely come in handy now, but the best she could do was to stop the bleeding and keep the draenei alive long enough to find out what had happened on the path.

"Why would-" the draenei winced in pain as Vaala pushed his hand away to take a better look at the wound "-why would you help me?"

_Why, indeed? _came Illidan's voice a moment later.

Vaala resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the untimely interruption. Touching her locket ever so faintly, she replied, "Doubt me all you want, but I believe we can help each other."

_That wretch will never trust you. You might as well kill him now. _

"You Aldor are many things, but you're not stupid," Vaala went on, choosing to ignore the intruding presence in her mind for now. "You didn't just up and decide to go for a stroll this close to the Black Temple on a whim. You were trying to reach the other side of the valley... and there isn't anything of interest there other than the Sanctum of the Stars. Nothing would warrant such a desperate move... unless the Scryers knew something that you didn't, such as when and where the Sunfury were planning to strike, and they were willing to join forces to fend off the attack. Are you with me so far?"

The draenei said nothing, but the brief look of panic that crossed his features was enough for Vaala to know that her speculations had been right. A truce between the Aldor and the Scryers wasn't so far-fetched as many appeared to believe, especially not with the threat of an impending disaster looming in the not-so-distant future. It was easy to put the puzzle together when nearly all the pieces were in her hands.

"It was a trap," the draenei whispered at length. "I suspected it even before the dragon riders attacked... and while we were... distracted trying to shield ourselves from their arrows... we were easy prey for the assassins..."

"Assassins, hey?" Vaala muttered with a frown. It seemed as though Veras Darkshadow and his agents weren't entirely useless after all. Then again, the fact that Veras already knew about Illidan's plan to attack the Aldor when there had been no 'official' mention of it to any but a few supposedly trusted commanders was slightly unnerving. Vaala couldn't help but wonder what other information he possessed and how he'd come across it. Illidan was likely taken aback by that thought as well. She could feel his puzzlement at the back of her mind.

Setting aside that thought for later, Vaala reached again for her pouch and felt around until her fingers closed around the familiar shape of a crystal vial. Inside was an anti-venom she'd brewed herself some months prior. There was a fair chance that Veras's assassins poisoned their blades, and she needed the draenei alive for a while still. "Drink this," she commanded.

The draenei gave her a look that made it clear he didn't trust her. "You drink first."

By the Sun, what an _idiot_, Vaala thought with an exasperated sigh. "Do you really think I'd waste any poison on you if I wanted you dead?" she said, making no effort to hide her annoyance. "Besides, I'd hate to waste even a drop of this. Some of these herbs were really hard to find out here."

The draenei tried to shrug and groaned when his broken arm didn't allow it. Still, he didn't protest any further when Vaala opened the vial and let a few drops fall on his charred lips. She leaned back and waited. The anti-venom was old, but potent enough to do away with whatever poisons Veras's henchmen might have employed.

"Your people have... strange ways," the draenei said after a while.

Vaala made a noncommittal sound. "My people are stupid," she said flatly. "Most would have simply put you out of your misery. I'm not like that." '_Well... most of the time, anyway,_' she thought.

The draenei didn't question that. "My name is Arakai and I serve as an anchorite at the Altar of Sha'tar," he offered. "And you?"

"Vaala... Vaala Dawnstrike. I suppose you _can_ tell where my loyalties lie... right?" Such a phrase wasn't lying, but it wasn't truthful, either. Let the draenei think what he wanted, Vaala wasn't about to admit who she'd been forced to serve unless she had no choice.

"Dawnstrike...?" Arakai's face screwed up with the effort of remembering. "I know I've heard about you..." Suddenly, his expression changed to one of apprehension. "You're-"

"_Yes._" Vaala felt Illidan's presence circle her mind like a vulture waiting for its intended prey to die so it could swoop down and feast. It was best not to have this fool of an anchorite blurt out anything she'd have to explain later on, such as the fact that - _no_. She wouldn't think about her brother if she could help it. "Now that we're formally acquainted," she continued before Arakai could say anything more, "tell me what brought you and your party out here. And tell me _everything._"

**5.**

Several hours had gone past with no sign of the gronn other than the occasional roars and thumps, which seemed to be getting closer for a while, then farther, then closer again. The gronn was either searching for something or biding its time, delighting in driving its prey to their wits' end. The refugees had set up camp as far back on the path as they dared to go with hardly any light to guide their steps. Most of the wood, along with some supplies that had been deemed less important than the rest, had been used to several large bonfires, but the night was pitch-black where their light couldn't reach. Smaller fires littered the camp, with people huddled around each.

Those who had any weapons to wield had formed a half-circle in front of the camp. A few men and women in tattered magister's robes were whispering among themselves at the front of the formation, doing their best to ignore the sounds that came from further up the path.

"This is preposterous!" one of the magisters burst out suddenly, eyes flaring. "The only thing that works against something made of stone is raw arcane energy. Anything else wouldn't even make a dent!"

"Rock would be far more vulnerable to the elements, I'd say," another magister cut in petulantly. "Fire melts it. Ice – well, ice-"

"_Chills _it? I'm fairly certain rock wouldn't _care _about ice!"

The second magister glared. "Ice seeps into every little crack and crevice and breaks it apart from the inside was what I meant to say. Whereas anything else would probably bounce right off."

The other caster snorted. "I'm sorry, I didn't know _you _were an authority on the subject of otherworldly giants that we haven't even _seen _so far."

The bickering ceased off abruptly when another roar pierced the night, coming from somewhere close this time. The magisters huddled together.

"Why is it doing that?" one of them whispered.

"Normally, it would do it to warn other gronn to stay clear of the area," said Freywinn, who had shadowed the group but kept silent so far. "Gronn are very touchy when it comes about protecting their territory... or frightening any other predators who could get to their quarry first. Even though I guess we could assume this one doesn't have much company up here. Or hope for it, anyway," he added quickly when the others began to fidget and mumble dejectedly under their breath.

"When you say 'quarry'-" one of the magisters began in a shaky voice.

"It _ate _one of the scouts," another cut in. "I think it's _obvious _what he meant."

"I _still _think that a large, concentrated burst of arcane energy should burn right through the damn thing," the first magister muttered after a while.

"I daresay you'll have the chance to put that to test _real _soon," Freywinn whispered, his features settling into a grim frown. "Listen..."

The sound came very faintly, low and rhythmic, like the beating of a heart, but it was steadily coming closer and there was no mistaking what it meant. The gronn had tired of the game and was moving in for the kill.

Freywinn left the magisters to their own affairs and rushed to where Sarannis was having a whispered conversation with some of her officers. For some reason, Andurien was there, too. Everyone seemed to trust the priest now, though Freywinn could hardly fathom why anyone would stand being around him.

"Are you certain you can do this?" Sarannis was asking with obvious disbelief at something that Andurien had just said.

Unnoticed by anyone, Freywinn rolled his eyes. The steps were louder now, making the ground shake ever so slightly. Just what in the hell was the priest offering _now? _

"It may be large, but I doubt it's very smart," Andurien answered. "It won't take much, and we need every advantage that-"

"Do it then."

Andurien nodded grimly and took a step forward. The defenders tightened their ranks behind him. Something large and black even against the starless sky was emerging from the other end of the path, moving with slow, deliberate striders. As it got closer, those in the first lines began to make out its jagged outlines and the strange, red crystals that protruded from its body at random places. The gronn rose a giant stone fist...

...and then, inexplicably, brought it down on its own head with a thundering sound, to the utter bafflement of the defenders – except for Sarannis, who smiled, and Andurien, who had gone strangely still, one hand outstretched and grasping

"Why is it doing that?" Freywinn hissed. "It's not... supposed... to..." Understanding dawned as the gronn repeated the strange motion. Priests were famed for their mental discipline, but some were rumored to take that one step further and achieve complete but brief dominance over other minds. Andurien was using the gronn's strength against _itself! _Grudgingly, Freywinn had to admit that it was a smart move, although he never would have thought he'd live to see such a display.

The gronn pummeled its own head a third time. Chips of stone broke and cascaded to the ground. Freywinn chanced a side glance at Andurien. His stance hadn't changed and he still wore a look of utter determination, but his hand shook ever so slightly and his breathing was erratic. The gronn raised its fist once more, but the blow never came.

"Hit... it... _now_..." Andurien managed. Then, very slowly, he sank to the ground.

There was a moment of confusion on both sides. Sarannis rallied first. "Give it everything you've got!" she yelled. "_Do it_, damn you, or I will have every one of your heads myself!"

One of the magisters was shaken out of his stupor by the cry and raised his hands, preparing a powerful cast. One by one, others joined in, chanting or drawing arcane runes that shimmered and dissipated in the air as their energies were added to the spells. The mind-controlling spell had worn off and the gronn lowered its fist, stared at it with its one eye that glimmered where it caught the campfire lights, then began to charge like an angry kodo bull. Freywinn swallowed thickly. If something that large caught a momentum, nothing, not even the combined magic of a thousand casters, could ever stand a chance to stop it.

Then, the casters unleashed their spells. The ground below the gronn erupted in a pillar of flames, while shards of ice pelted it from above and bursts of arcane energy erupted across its stone body. The creature staggered, pushed back by the tremendous force of all the spells combined. The charge of magic in the air was overwhelming. Surely, nothing, not even a stone giant, could take that kind of a beating. Surely...

It took a while before the magical onslaught began to die down as, one after another, the casters reached the end of their strength. By now, the farther end of the path was shrouded in smoke and a thick smell of brimstone permeated the air.

"Did we get it?" someone asked in a whisper.

There was no reply at first. Then, a timid cheer broke somewhere at the back of the camp. Other cheers started here and there, but many of the refugees simply stood there in bafflement. Was that it, then? Was it truly over?

Sarannis straightened up and dusted her armor off with an inscrutable expression. "That's the end of it," she said loudly. Then she motioned for Freywinn to follow her and lead them a small distance away. "Did I send any magisters to scout ahead?" she asked quietly.

Freywinn arched an eyebrow. "No, why?"

"I didn't think so..." Sarannis ran a hand through her hair. "Tell me... did you see anything unusual just now?"

"You mean, other than how our magisters managed to take down that thing? I wasn't expecting any of them to-"

Sarannis waved him into silence. "I wasn't talking about that. Strange... for a moment there... I thought..." She shook her head, "It's probably nothing."

Then again, Sarannis could have sworn she'd seen a fireball erupt _behind _the gronn... and that one flaming sphere had been more impressive than anything she ever remembered witnessing before. As far as she knew, none of the magisters could have possibly done that in their present state. And then, there was also the very brief impression of a silhouette outlined by the spell, perched high atop one of the jagged spikes overlooking the path. That one caster could have been an adventurer in passing, drawn to their plight by the sounds of battle and generous enough to fight on their behalf, but that in itself would be too much of a coincidence. And Sarannis did not believe in coincidences.

**6.**

Reevan settled the scrying orb on a nearby table and rubbed his temples. "I wasn't expecting you to step in and save the day though," he said to an unseen companion. The conversation had been going on for a while.

"Why not?" came a voice from the orb. "It's what I do. You know that."

Despite the tenseness of the last few days, Reevan smiled a little. "Don't go having too much fun though, Archmage. The Sunfury must not know they're being watched."

There was a pause, then, "Fair enough. I'll try to _keep _keeping out of sight then."

The smile came again. The Archmage – whose real name was a mystery to most, including Reevan himself – was well-known for his eccentricities, the least of which was that he tended to speak like those of the lesser races sometimes. Another quirk was his strange inclination for jokes that any self-respecting blood elf would have graciously pretended not to hear. He'd made a number of those already, but Reevan had found himself entertained rather than irked. There was no denying that the Archmage _was_ powerful - so powerful, in fact, that such things were easily overlooked by the Scryers in favor of the other benefits that his allegiance brought.

"Spymaster...?"

Reevan cleared his throat. "Very well then," he said, keeping his voice level. "Return to your other duties, then, and keep me apprised of the situation."

Inside the orb, the Archmage's silhouette sketched a salute before dissolving into a cloud of mist.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:**_

_I figured this would be the right place for a little background. This chapter is slightly shorter than the others, mainly because it was the first time I tried to work with flashbacks and I ended up trimming out a lot more stuff than I usually do... Here's hoping it turned out OK in the end. (Re-written as of 3/21)_

_Oh, also, there are a number of sub-plots and cameos that are still in development right now (the Archmage is one of them, by the way, and here's a shoutout to my good friend and guildie Archmagenos / Hottsforu on Khaz'goroth - US)._

**1.**

"I see you have managed to return safely after all."

Vaala didn't turn around or react in any way, although inwardly she was more than furious at herself for having failed to notice Illidan's sudden appearance. "Those blasted Aldor almost got the jump on me," she said, keeping her attention trained firmly on the blade she was sharpening. "But not before I had a chance to learn some rather _interesting_ facts," she added smartly. "Did you know that more reinforcements are on their way from Shattrath? They spoke about how the Naaru will avenge their fallen, and that can only mean that we'll have a lot more than just a handful of draenei to deal with now."

A few moments passed in ominous silence. Then, "Are you certain of this?"

"I've heard it with my own two ears, my lord. They even _named _the damn thing."

"This news is most aggravating... They _dare_ to think that their Naaru can stand against _me?_ They will pay dearly... along with the rest of their nether-forsaken species."

Vaala pulled a small vial out of a pouch and let a small amount of emerald-green liquid drop along the edge of the sword, then held it up and regarded it critically. She'd brewed the poison herself, and it was potent enough to kill anything... well, _almost_ anything, with just a few drops. She certainly wasn't looking forward to any more fighting for a while, but it paid to be prepared for every eventuality. After all, Illidan certainly hadn't come here in person to make small talk when he could do that just as well through their link.

"I had a chance to speak with Veras Darkshadow before you returned. He was daft enough to pretend he knew nothing of the message, or the attack..." There was a dark chuckle. "He did change his mind presently, of course."

Vaala heard footsteps approaching behind her. Her grip tensed momentarily on the hilt before she forced her muscles under control. "Did he now?" she said lightly.

"Apparently, our dear assassin tried to draw some of the Aldor out in the open by posing as a Scryer and offering a most sensitive piece of information about a _certain_ impending threat... He knew those fools would want to check the facts for themselves, and they would send some of their finest to parlay with the Scryers firsthand. He is quite cunning, I must say."

Vaala paused a little. It was too much of a stretch to assume that Veras had simply made a lucky guess. "How did he know?"

"Oh, Veras has his spies... One of them happens to be quite close to your Spymaster, in fact, and Veras assured me he could have his head delivered to me personally if I so desired."

Vaala sheathed her sword, then took the other one and began to sharpen the edge idly to hide the way her hands shook ever so slightly.

"I _did_ remind Veras that he was not to move without my consent," Illidan went on, his voice coming from somewhere much closer now. "But then, I thought, why not remove this pest and concern myself with his replacement when he or she arrives?"

This was a game, Vaala thought even as she felt a foreboding chill. Illidan knew _something – _Veras had probably uncovered it and passed on the knowledge, _damn him!_ – and now he wanted to see how far he could go before she gave the rest of it away.

"Silent, I see."

Vaala forced a nonchalant shrug. Then, realizing that she was expected to reply, she added, "You already know where my loyalties lie. If you want this man out of the way, there isn't anything I can do to stop you." She took the vial of poison again and uncorked it. A single drop fell on the blade, which steamed and vanished almost as soon as it touched the metal.

"Strange," Illidan mused, edging even closer. "After all, you left me with a strong impression that you'd do _anything_ to keep your brother out of harm's way."

Vaala spun around, but before she had a chance to do anything else her sword was wrenched from her grip and tossed aside. Her one remaining sword was slung across her back, well within reach, but then she knew that she'd be dead long before she even touched the hilt.

"I see Veras was telling the truth after all," Illidan drawled with a sort of cruel satisfaction. "I have been wondering about such a thing myself, after the way you went above and beyond to convince me that the Aldor were a more suitable target for a preemptive strike. Now that I know for certain, I have to ask... where _do_ your loyalties lie, exactly?"

Vaala said nothing.

"_Well?_"

"I..." Vaala struggled to answer as her mind reeled. '_I wanted to protect him_,' she thought desperately, although the courage to voice that thought never came. '_He always looked out for me, and I wanted to do the same, even if he didn't know..._'

"It would appear that I need no answer after all. Your thoughts are more than eloquent on the matter, at any rate." Illidan paused, as though suddenly he'd found another notion to consider. "I am intrigued, however," he continued a moment later. "When you offered your services to me, you knew full well that you might be required to turn against your own kin. And yet here you are, ready to risk your life to protect him in spite of his allegiance. The Scryers-"

"I couldn't care less about the damn Scryers!" Vaala interrupted, surprised at her own boldness. "Kill them, torture them, toss them off the edge of the world if it strikes your fancy, but leave my brother alone or kill me now, because otherwise I'll fight you every step of the way."

Illidan didn't look at all taken aback by the sudden outburst. "Do you think yourself so valuable that I wouldn't kill you outright?" he asked slowly, in a manner that made it clear he was prepared to go through with his threat if it came to it.

"Hardly," Vaala answered after a moment. "I did swear to put my skills and knowledge at your disposal - but this is where I draw the line."

Nearly a minute passed in unnerving silence. Now that the rush of adrenaline from before was beginning to die down, Vaala began to contemplate her own demise. Would it be quick, or would he take pleasure in prolonging it for as long as he could? Either way, the outcome of this conversation depended solely on Illidan's benevolence... or lack thereof.

"This is a most unfortunate predicament," Illidan said finally. "Though... I suppose the death of one man who would be replaced as easily as you've told me would hardly be worth losing an agent as resourceful as yourself."

"What are you saying?" Vaala asked weakly, finding the small hope that she'd glimpsed in those words almost impossible to believe.

"I will... offer your brother sanctuary, should you persuade him to join my cause. If he refuses my offer, then have him leave the valley before my Sunfury strike. In the meantime, I will personally see to it that Veras and his assassins are busy elsewhere."

Vaala kept her composure even as a wave of unspeakable gratitude filled her with more elation that she'd experienced in a long time. This was a greater victory than she could have ever dreamed of, let alone seek to accomplish. It took some time before she finally found her voice. "Thank you, my lord," she said reverently. "I promise you, in exchange for this-"

"In exchange for this, I would have you tell me more about your brother."

Vaala blinked once, startled. "You - you want to know...?"

"And why not? Your devotion intrigues me. You are, of course, free to withhold whatever you find necessary, but other than that, I want to know everything."

This new development was somehow more unexpected than any other request Illidan could have made. In truth, Vaala didn't much care to talk about her former life. She found it far more productive to concentrate on current matters rather than angst over a past she could do nothing to change. But then, recounting some of the events that had lead up to this predicament was preferable to most alternatives she could think of.

"All right then," Vaala began awkwardly, "I suppose I might as well start with the beginning. When we were young, Reevan and I lived in our own separate worlds. He was studying the arcane arts, like most of my family, and I trained to become a ranger. We didn't talk much... but when we did, he didn't judge, and that was a rare thing for anyone back then." A brief smile fluttered across her lips at the recollection. "The orcs came and went. The trolls came and stayed, but we thought we could deal with them all the same. And then..."

Vaala paused for a few moments to collect her thoughts and stomp out the mild regret that was beginning to trickle at the back of her mind. Things had been so much simpler in those days.

"...And then, the Scourge came."

**2.**

_Vaala had nowhere to run. The alley was a dead end. The ghoul shambled towards her, its long, tattered robes billowing in the wind. It – he had been a magister before. She felt bile rise in her throat and she swallowed thickly. Part of her wanted to cower in fear, close her eyes, cover her ears and hope that it would be over quickly. Her mind rebelled at that thought, sending a fresh surge of adrenaline through her body. Death would bring no respite. If she allowed herself to be killed here, she would end up like... this. She tensed, forcing her body to be absolutely still, gathering her momentum - and then, she leaped like a cat, one hand outstretched. Her palm caught the ghoul square in the chest, the impact so powerful that the creature staggered backwards. Vaala darted past it and into the street beyond. Behind her, she heard an unearthly wail, but that was hardly of consequence. Even in her current condition, she was absolutely certain that she could outrun the thing. And run she did, not caring where she went as long as it meant that the ghoul would be far behind. She kept going long after the wailing had ceased, until her chest began to burn and her heart thundered in her ears so loudly it was unbearable._

_At last, she came to a stop in a small square. The Scourge had already swept through this part of town and moved on. Dead bodies littered the cobblestones. Some looked like they had been cut down mid-flight, while others had probably tried - and failed - to make a stand. A woman still had her arms wrapped around her child._

_One of the bodies still clutched a short training sword._

_Vaala hesitated only briefly. She edged closer to the dead man, then reached out and yanked the sword from his contorted fingers. She gripped the hilt until her knuckles hurt. The sword felt real in her hands. It gave her a little courage. She could fight now._

_Slowly, a plan began to form in her mind. If she could make it past the city gates, then maybe she could lose her trail in the woods. The bulk of the Scourge forces were already sweeping past Silvermoon and towards Quel'danas. The woods were safer than the city at the moment, and even with all the dead, she could-_

_Dead. The thought struck her like a blow. Her family hadn't fled to the Sunwell, as many others had, and she knew nothing of their fates. Maybe they were – no, **no**, there was no time to think of that now. She had to flee. She had to live. She would come back and find them when the Scourge had gone. They were alive. They had to be._

_Vaala turned down another street and began to walk, staying alert to her surroundings as she went. There were more bodies here. Foul odors hung in the air, blood and gravel mingling with rot and decay. Vaala struggled to breathe. She fought the urge to run. She would need her strength to fight, if it came down to it._

_A series of gargles and moans somewhere to her left warned her of the approaching ghouls even before she saw them. There were at least half a dozen of them, some little more than walking skeletons with ragged clothing and rotting bits of flesh dangling off their yellowing bones._

_Vaala didn't think twice. She charged. Two of the ghouls fell quickly, their heads slashed clean off their shoulders and rolling to the ground in a matter of seconds. Her sword sliced clean through the midsection of a third one. A fourth managed to claw at her back, leaving a long gash in her leather jerkin before she spun around and did away with it. Vaala cursed as she backed away. Her shoulder stung where the ghoul's claws had torn the flesh and drawn blood. Blind panic overwhelmed her for a dreadful moment before she pushed it to the back of her mind. The remaining ghouls shambled closer, claws outstretched, maws open wide._

_And then, she heard a voice, deep and oddly composed as it said, "Away with you mindless wretches. This one is mine."_

_Vaala turned so quickly she almost lost her balance and fell. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the ghouls were limping away. "Thank you-" she began. Then, when she saw her would-be rescuer, the gratitude she felt vanished like the mists at dawn._

_Blood elves spoke of Arthas's lieutenants in hushed whispers, decrying their unholy strength and ruthlessness. Vaala had never seen a death knight before. Now, as she took in the dark plate armor adorned with fearsome skulls, the pale, lifeless complexion and the unnervingly emotionless eyes, she knew with sickening certainty that her fate was all but sealed. The ghouls she might have been able to deal with, but this was a foe who far surpassed whatever skills she possessed._

"_I will give you a chance to fight," the death knight continued in the same flat voice. "If you can amuse me long enough, perhaps I'll make it quick in the end."_

_Vaala raised her own sword, which suddenly felt heavy and useless in her hands. The thought to throw the blade away and bargain for her life came and went. It would be useless either way, and she wouldn't disgrace herself like that. Instead, she took a stance and waited for him to deal the first blow, which she dodged just barely. The death knight bode his time, delighting in the 'game'. Soon, Vaala found that fighting against him was like trying to cut through a wall of steel. Whenever Vaala swung her sword, her blows were inevitably met by the death knight's own runeblade. He wielded it with a speed and dexterity that she had seen achieved only by the most seasoned fighters of Quel'Thalas, yet he did not press his own attacks._

_Vaala ducked under a blow, then whirled around and struck at the death knight's back. Underneath his long cloak, the sword met steel armor and broke in two. Vaala staggered back hurriedly as the death knight turned to face her once more. With little left to do, she dropped the broken hilt and held out her arms, conjuring what little magic she possessed as a desperate last resort. She wasn't any good with casting, but she knew enough to invoke simple spells, and maybe..._

_Fire enveloped the death knight like a shroud. It burned with such ferocity that Vaala could feel the heat from where she stood. He stopped in his tracks, a brief look of uncertainty crossing his otherwise impassive features before he crumpled to the ground. He didn't scream. Within moments, he was nothing more than a smoldering heap of ash and contorted metal on the cobblestones. Only the runeblade remained._

_Vaala hadn't even had time to think of a spell, let alone cast it. She looked around wildly, arms still outstretched... and then she felt a surge of arcane energy so close it made her skin prickle._

"_Thank the Sun I found you," said another voice, and this time it was one that she knew all too well. "Come on. We are getting out of here."_

**3.**

"He came back for me," Vaala said, and even now, the thought brought with it a feeling of deep gratitude that she did nothing to conceal. "He could have gone without me, but he came back and I owe him my life for it. How could I forsake him now?"

Illidan had listened to the tale in silence, nodding every now and then. "What happened after?" he asked.

"He cast a spell that took us away, to Quel'danas. We joined with the king's army for a time, then went into hiding when it became obvious which side would emerge the victor."

"And that was your idea, I take it?" Illidan asked, amused.

Vaala didn't even bother to try to look ashamed. "Of course it was," she answered with a smirk. "After the war was over, we returned to Silvermoon and did our best to get on with our lives... until Reevan decided to leave with Kael'thas and whatever remained with our forces and help the first Alliance. Around that time, I gave up on my training and decided to do things my way. I'd always looked up to our rangers and tried to become just as skilled as they were... until I realized how useless they became after the war. I would have none of it."

"How very interesting," Illidan said suddenly. "I was under the impression that your people prefer to employ magic rather than bows or blades, and yet the sin'dorei can be terrific skirmishers if they put their mind to it. Why do you suppose that is?"

Vaala had to think about this. "I'm... not sure," she admitted. "I, for one, am terrible with any school of magic and I make no secret of it. That's not to say that swordsmanship would be any easier, of course, but..." She trailed off, staring at her liege incredulously. Was he _smiling_ at her?

"What happened then?"

The question had a hint of genuine interest, and Vaala found herself smiling back. People who took an interest in her usually came to regret it. "I was all by myself after the war," she said. "My family were missing, and I could only assume what had happened to them when the Scourge reached our estate. I'd had no word from my brother in many months. There was nothing left for me in the ruins of Silvermoon, and so I decided to leave and see where my fortune would take me. Walking got tiresome after a while, and as I happened past Tranquilien, I had an idea..."

"You stole a mount."

"Please, 'stole' is such a harsh word... or so any of my people would say," Vaala corrected herself mockingly. "It was more trouble than it was worth, though. I let it go as soon as I passed the Plaguelands and kept going on foot. I already knew that the Forsaken were on our side, although frankly I never cared much for them... especially not after what happened in the Undercity."

**4.**

_The first thing one noticed about the Undercity was the stench of decay. It hung in the air, so thick it blanketed any other smells. Some of the denizens were so badly decomposed they were little more than walking skeletons. Still, each and every one of them wore some clothing in a display of modesty that did a fair job of evoking their lost humanity, and some had even retained their vanity in death. They milled about in the hundreds, each going about their business and paying little attention to each other or anyone else. And then, there were people of the other races, fairly less numerous but and looking decidedly out of place - especially the few Tauren that had the heart to venture this far from their native lands, who were anything but conspicuous in a city that obviously hadn't been built for anyone of their size._

_Vaala was lost. The Undercity was immense, and the faint light cast by the flickering braziers was barely enough with which to see. These people... the Forsaken, as they called themselves... they unnerved her. But gold was gold even when it came from such... questionable individuals, and gold allowed access to other wares of utmost necessity. Vaala had survived thus far by running the odd errand here and there and trading whatever baubles she'd brought from Silvermoon in exchange for food. She had a sword, which was all but blunt now, and a small bag with a few dried rations and enough fresh water to last for a while still._

"_And you are...?"_

_Vaala realized she'd almost bumped into someone. He was probably male, judging by the deep voice and the tattered suit he wore. One eye socket was empty, and he regarded her with the other eye in an almost curious manner. "Hungry," she answered, and that was true. It felt like forever since she'd had a decent meal._

_The Forsaken snorted. "Well, 'Hungry'," he said without any trace of humor whatsoever, "I have an errand to be taken care of and plenty of coin to part with. I might even throw in a bat wing or two."_

_'Bat wing.' Vaala felt her stomach turn. But even bats had some meat on their wings, and meat was nourishing all the same. She watched a maggot burrow in the Forsaken's neck as she considered her options... or, better said, her utmost lack of any options other than one that was very obvious but promised to be anything but easy or pleasant._

_"What kind of errand...?" she asked at length._

**5.**

"...It was a twisted business," Vaala remembered with a chuckle. "His name was Martin Pure-something and he died in a tavern brawl some years before the war, but he did manage to kill the other guy before succumbing to his wounds. Then, Arthas raised both of them as part of his army. In a perfect world they might have become best buddies after that... but, needless to say, Martin still held a grudge. He wanted the killer dead, for good this time. I knew where to find him, but I'd never killed anyone before, undead or not. In the end, the only thing that got me through all this was the fact that I was really, _really_ hungry and I figured bat wings wouldn't taste too bad. In hindsight, I couldn't have been more wrong. They tasted horrible. I've never eaten anything so bad, before or since."

Illidan tossed his head back and laughed. After a few moments, Vaala joined in. It felt _good_ to laugh, and it had been far too long since the last time she'd been in such good spirits.

"This one job had other benefits, too," Vaala continued as the mirth subsided. "Martin had connections, so to speak, and after a while I caught the eye the Deathstalkers."

"The 'Deathstalkers'...? I've never heard of their order. Who are they?"

"I figured you wouldn't know... They called themselves the elite of the Forsaken and everyone was wise enough to stay out of their way. They were the ones who made sure the Banshee Queen's rule wouldn't be troubled by conspirators and other 'trivial matters'. Every last one of them was trained to kill in any way imaginable... poisons, weapons, 'accidents' even. I did the menial tasks that others didn't want to bother with - a small piece of information here, a 'just' repossession of some thing or another there, an assassination while the city guards were conveniently looking the other way. I was still clumsy back then, and frankly I didn't like most of the things I had to do, but beggars can't be choosers, right? And then... I met _him_."

**6.**

_The Undercity never slept. The Forsaken were beyond the need to rest, and even travelers of other races found themselves strangely alert once they stepped into the ruined city. Despite the late hour, the catacombs were as animated as they had been at high noon. Nobody paid any attention to Vaala as she walked around with feigned nonchalance, watching and listening intently as she went. One never knew where the next opportunity would present itself, and her employers had come to value her as a fairly useful spy._

_With a start, Vaala spotted another blood elf making his way through the crowds. This was a rare sight indeed, since many of her people were still uneasy about their new-found 'allies' and hardly ever ventured here. Reaching a quick decision, Vaala fell in step with the man. "_Bal'a dash, malanore,_" she said._

_The man turned, clearly surprised at being addressed in Thalassian. He was, as Vaala was quick to notice, still wearing the robes of the Kirin Tor despite the fact that the order had all but passed with the fall of Dalaran. He was also quite old, even by the loose standards of the sin'dorei. "Greetings to you, too! _Doral ana'diel? _Oh... but please forgive my poor manners. My name is Aylinn Firehawk. At your service." He bowed without ever breaking stride._

_Vaala found herself liking the man. His tone was familiar and his smile was open and honest. Besides, it was a relief to see a friendly face that had all the bits and pieces there, for a change. She introduced herself in turns, thinking for a moment to curtsy before she realized how awkward that kind of gesture would have been. "What brings you here, master Firehawk?" she asked instead._

_Aylinn smirked. It was the kind of smirk Vaala had seen in the slummy taverns of the Undercity, just before a long and juicy tale. "Oh, I would have very much liked to stay in Silvermoon, I assure you. Then again, I was told I was too old do anything, though, and that I was to spare myself any kind of effort at my age. 'My age!' Hmph."_

_Vaala kept her expression carefully blank._

"_That sort of nonsense got the better of me, I'm afraid... So here I am, on my way to the Dark Portal and beyond. They say all sorts of wondrous things about the other world, and maybe there's some truth in that. At any rate, I have to see for myself. I'm sure our prince won't mind the company of a seasoned magister like myself. Believe it or not, I have some fire left in me still."_

"_I don't doubt it," Vaala said, and nodded. "You travel south, then?"_

"_Yes. As a matter of fact, I expect I will be departing sometime before dawn."_

"_Alone?" Vaala was bewildered. She couldn't help it. The lands south of the Undercity were a mystery to her still, but she had heard enough stories to be thankful she hadn't seen them first-hand. Humans, she knew, were a lot fiercer now, and they were the least of the dangers present._

"_Why, of course! Unless – oh, but I haven't even asked you what you planned to do from here. How rude of me. Would you be going the same way, by any chance?"_

_Vaala thought about it. She thought about all the odds and ends of her current situation, and she realized that, even though she had been there for some time, she didn't like it any better than she had when she'd first arrived. "As a matter of fact, I am," she said lightly. 'Why not?' she thought. At least she wouldn't be traveling alone._

_Aylinn beamed at her then. "Wonderful! Shall we meet by the gates, say, at dawn? With any luck, I might even get ourselves a mount."_

"_Don't bother, I have one," Vaala retorted almost without thinking. In truth, she didn't. Then again, she knew where to get one. She could only hope that the skeletal horses the Forsaken commonly employed would not make the elderly magister too uneasy, and that the guards wouldn't mind the theft of one paltry animal when they could very easily raise another to take its place._

_"How fortunate!" Aylinn chirped merrily. "I still have some errands to take care of, but I expect I shouldn't be long. By your leave, then."_

_As she watched him walk away, Vaala couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement. For the first time in a while, things were actually looking up... a little. And with the skills she'd learned in the past few months, she had no doubts that she could handle whatever dangers lay ahead... or, at the very least, stay alive long enough to run away._

**7.**

Vaala paused a little. Her eyes were half-closed and she felt drowsy. She hadn't thought about the past much, likely because part of her dreaded the lure of nostalgia, but the memories weren't nearly as painful to bear as she'd expected. Now that the one thing she had tried to keep away from him had been revealed either way, the fact that Illidan was taking such a keen interest in her story no longer bothered her.

"We set off at dawn," she continued eventually, "and by dusk I was already regretting it. Aylinn loved to hear himself talk more than anything. By the time we reached Thoradin's Wall, I already knew everything there was to know about his life and his many 'adventures', as he called them. When he was done with that, he began to tell me about life at the court of King Anasterian. I have to say, after I heard some of those stories, I was never able to think of our prince in quite the same way I used to."

A shadow passed over Illidan's features. "Ah... Kael'thas."

Vaala bit her lower lip. The Scryers had only scarce information on what had transpired at Tempest Keep, but they knew enough to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that Kael'thas and his Sunfury served a new master now. The very notion that their prince had sided with the Burning Legion was all but inconceivable to many blood elves, and even Vaala had trouble believing it at first. Then again, facts were facts and there was no point in denying the obvious. And, if the Scryers knew, it stood to reason that Illidan would hear about such a thing well.

"I hadn't expected him to turn against me... and that only proves that I was the bigger fool for trusting him," Illidan said quietly.

Vaala flinched at the words, remembering how on their first encounter he'd claimed to know all about betrayal and mistrust. "I'm surprised you still put up with the rest of us, my lord," she said, to fill the unnerving silence more than anything.

"Your people are a formidable fighting force when properly trained and have many useful talents otherwise, but I will not suffer any form of treachery. This is why I had you execute the spy you caught, and this is why I will not hesitate to do the same with you should you ever give any indication that you've had a change of heart."

Vaala nodded stiffly. "I thought we were past all that."

Illidan gave her a curious look. "You'll find that my trust is not that easily earned."

"And still, you left me to my own affairs today rather than forbid me to leave the temple. You even let me question the draenei-"

"-which revealed precisely the kind of information I was after," Illidan cut in dryly. "This conversation has been very... enlightening. Rest, for now. I may have need of you fairly soon."

And then he was gone in a rush of fel energy, probably off to the top of the temple, where he could brood and plan. Vaala waited in stillness until the last traces of magic faded away, then stood up and stretched. Her sword still lay where Illidan had tossed it. She went over and picked it up, careful not to touch the blade. Then, she paused as a thought came. She tossed the blade in the air, then caught it and continued the motion with a series of complicated slashes and thrusts. The exercise tired her after a while, but there was no mistaking the fact that the power that was trickling from the gem Illidan had sent to her was already beginning to change her in not-so-subtle ways, the least of which was a much-needed boost to her endurance and strength.

Vaala found herself wondering whether Kael'thas had been 'gifted' with the same sort of power when he'd turned, and whether others had partaken in the gift as well. After all, many of the sin'dorei were already addicted to fel magic. The Burning Legion was willing to share with them a fraction of its power, and that was probably enough for many. Her own addiction had been frightening at first, but in time, she had learned to overcome the crippling pain that came whenever the craving threatened to spiral out of control. The thought of following in the footsteps of her prince had crossed her mind more than once. It wasn't worth it, though. Anything the demons had to offer _always_ had strings attached...

...and Illidan was almost far enough gone to be considered a demon himself, wasn't he? Belatedly, Vaala realized that she had let her guard down. The outcome had been worth it, though. Illidan had made a promise, and Vaala almost believed that he was willing to keep it. That, if anything, was a small comfort. She trusted him now... and idly, she wondered if he would ever be persuaded to trust her in return.


	5. Chapter 5

**_ Author's Note:_**

_...And we're back to seeing some action in this chapter. Not only that, but there are a few plot twists ahead. From here on out, it's largely uncharted territory for me since I've never made it this far with a fanfic before. I'll try to keep everything as canon-abiding as possible though. If things get out of hand, do let me know. (Re-written as of 4/4)_

**1.**

Dawn came, and with it came another day of walking through dirt and listening to other people complain. Sarannis had given her hawkstrider to an injured scout the day before, and already she was coming to regret it. There was nothing glorious or even remotely fulfilling about being selfless, even when everyone in their band had come to look to her for assistance or advice. Leadership was nothing short of the burden when the people she had to work with were tired, demoralized and lacking even the most basic notions of discipline.

Freywinn sensed that Sarannis was in a foul mood and kept his tongue in check. He had almost offered to share his mount earlier, but a withering stare from her as soon as he'd opened his mouth had made him turn away with a shrug. A while later, the botanist had dismounted anyway. Sarannis had set a slower pace for now, since only a few of the refugees had actually been able to sleep the night before, but she was adamant about moving on nevertheless. The longer they stayed in one place, the more they put themselves at risk of being ambushed from either side by whatever brigands roamed these mountains or traveled on these paths.

Shattrath was still many days away, and Freywinn wasn't exactly sure what would happen once they reached it. Unlike Sarannis, he'd actually bothered to listen to things that were said across the camp. Some of the refugees were thinking of staying in the city for a while. A few even talked about seeking forgiveness from the Naaru, as the Scryers had done before. The Naaru were beings of peace and unconditional love, striving to protect and create rather than destroy. They would forgive anyone as long as there was even the smallest chance of redemption... wouldn't they?

This thought troubled Freywinn far more than he let show. Things were easy enough for those who had unknowingly – or unwillingly – submitted to their prince's new allegiance. Then again, people like Sarannis and himself could hardly afford the luxury of such excuses. They'd been with Kael'thas every step of the way, going so far as to enforce loyalty where loyalty was due and through any means necessary. This was especially true for Sarannis. Whereas Freywinn had been passionate about his research more than anything, Sarannis had kept a strict discipline on the Botanica, punishing even the slightest notion of treachery in dire ways.

The first part of the day – and it was truly a relief to finally be in a place where day followed night in a sensible manner – went on without any extraordinary happenings. As the sun was starting to dip towards the highest mountain peaks, they crossed paths with a small party of brown-skinned orcs, bigger and fiercer than those of any other clans Freywinn had seen before. The orcs were naturally suspicious at first, but their doubts eased a little when told that the blood elves were pilgrims returning from the Netherstorm after having found Tempest Keep in ruins.

The orcs spoke of otherworldly adventurers that were traveling these parts in search of bounties or a quick brawl. They also brought word of a tunnel that descended southward, towards Zangarmarsh, and they left Sarannis with a crudely-drawn map and the knowledge that the path was well-trodden, but still dangerous. When asked what kind of dangers they spoke of, they said nothing more.

"At this pace, we should arrive at the tunnel in three days' time," Sarannis told the others once the orcs had gone on their way. Her voice, even though weary, still had the strength to carry across the camp. "Finding our way through Zangarmarsh should be tricky, but we will eventually reach Terrokar if we keep heading south. With any luck, we should be able to replenish our food and water before our provisions run out."

There were various mutters of agreement here and there. By and large, the journey to Shattrath was half-over, and aside from the gronn there had been few perils thus far.

Sarannis raised her voice a little. "In the meantime, it has come to my attention that some of you would flee back to Silvermoon rather than honor our true allegiance in this land."

'_Ah_,' Freywinn thought as the mutters were cut off abruptly. '_So, she _does_ listen._' He surveyed the camp with some concern, but things didn't look like they would get out of hand. Many of the listeners had puzzled expressions. A few were shaking their heads.

"Once we reach Shattrath City, each one of you is free to do as they please," Sarannis continued, her gaze passing over the assembled followers. "Until then, however, I will have none of that nonsense spoken of in my presence." She paused a little. "That is all."

As Sarannis finished speaking, there was a subtle change in the overall mood. Small groups were forming all around the camp, but many kept their voices down. A rather large number of people were gathering around Andurien, Freywinn noted with a frown. If there was an agitator among the ranks, then it was most certainly the priest. Everything about the man spelled trouble.

Freywinn stood up. It was time to confront him and find out once and for all where his loyalties truly lay.

"Leave him be."

Freywinn looked down to the hand that had his wrist in an iron grip, then up and into the fierce eyes of his commander. Sarannis's expression was unreadable. He opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. "As you wish," he said with a shrug. "But I still say that man is dangerous. He may even be a spy."

The grip lessened a little. "I know precisely what he is," Sarannis hissed, "and right now, he should be none of your concern."

There were few things that Freywinn liked any less than being told off like that. "If you know what he is, then why don't you-"

"I said _leave him be_," Sarannis stressed. "The last thing we need is a riot on our hands, and that is _exactly _what's going to happen if you call Andurien out. We've got enough problems on our hands without having to worry about that, don't you think?" She waited until Freywinn gave a reluctant nod, then let him go and stormed off, south and away from the camp.

Freywinn rubbed his wrist absentmindedly. That woman had a strength that belittled her lithe appearance... and she was also easily crossed, as the last few days had shown. Then again, any commanding officer was bound to become like that sooner or later. As a scientist, Freywinn hadn't cared much for the twists and turns of war until the Scryers and their mercenaries had brought war to his very doorstep. He'd had no choice but to fight then, and even now he shuddered when he recalled how close he'd come to dying on that day. Indeed, war was best left to those who found pleasure in it, and he wasn't such a man.

Sarannis, on the other hand... she was a _real_ piece of work. She usually struck first and asked questions later, if there was anyone left alive to question. The only reason she hadn't been killed in the assault on Tempest Keep was that her guards had dragged her away from the fighting and tended to her wounds, and even then she'd all but single-handedly cleaved a path through the attackers. She was strong, quick-witted, and... _beautiful_. Especially on those rare occasions when she wore her hair down.

Freywinn caught himself with a start. Where in the hell had _that_ thought come from...?

**2.**

Sarannis walked until the lights of the camp were nearly out of sight. The path curved abruptly here, circling around a rocky outcrop before continuing down towards the south. The night was quiet, save for the sound of her own footsteps, but she didn't feel unsettled by this. After all, she was confident that she could defend herself against anything that might have been lurking in the shadows - and something _did_ lurk in the shadows, if her gut feeling was anything to go by. Ever since leaving the camp, Sarannis couldn't shake a nagging feeling that she were being watched. She kept alert, one hand hovering comfortably near her sword. Whoever – or, indeed, whatever it was that watched her would soon learn that she was not to be trifled with.

Somewhere close by, a few pebbles rolled down a stone spike with a faint rustling sound. Sarannis didn't break her stride, but her fingers brushed the hilt of her warblade. "You're rather clumsy, aren't you?" she called out to the night in general.

Despite her well-practiced self-restraint, Sarannis almost jumped when the night replied, "Sorry about that."

Sarannis drew her blade and forced herself to calm down. The words hadn't seemed to come from anywhere in particular, which made the situation at hand slightly unnerving. "Show yourself," she demanded.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, commander."

The unseen man didn't sound like he was going to attack. In fact he sounded rather kind, if a little condescending. Still, Sarannis wasn't one to back down just yet. "Who are you? And why are you following us?"

A pause, then, "You may call me 'Archmage'. I'm a friend."

Sarannis waited in silence until it became clear that this 'Archmage' had nothing else to add. "That's it? That's all you have to say? I saw you there the other night, so don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You helped us with the gronn. Why?"

The voice was silent for a while. "I have been charged to watch over you and yours," it said eventually. "There's no need to thank me."

"I wasn't going to-" Sarannis began, then paused. In fact, she _had_ thought of it. "-thank you anyway."

"My pleasure."

Sarannis almost stomped her foot in frustration before she recalled herself. _"_If you are truly who you claim to be, then there's no reason for you not to come out where I can see you."

"You'll see me when the time is right, commander. In the meantime, I won't be far away."

There was a faint tingle of magic in the air, and then the night grew quiet once again. Sarannis strained her ears for any sound, but heard nothing. The Archmage was gone. This time she did stomp her foot and curse out loud. Then, with little else to do, she turned and strode off towards the camp. However, she'd only taken a few steps when the distinct impression that she wasn't alone returned with even more intensity than before. As she was about to draw her sword, she almost bumped into Freywinn.

"I wasn't following you," the botanist said quickly.

Sarannis glared at him for a second. She needed someone to confide in and Freywinn was as good as anyone else... even though he looked like he had something on his mind, too.

"We need to talk," they both said at the same time.

Freywinn sagged a little where he stood. "You first," he sighed. "And let me walk you back to the camp."

Sarannis shook her head, "Not yet... I don't want anyone else to hear this yet."

Freywinn waited in silence, a look of slight puzzlement on his delicate features.

"The other night... with the gronn," Sarannis began, lowering her voice in case the Archmage was still listening somehow. "There was somebody helping us. I'm sure of it now."

"How-"

"I saw him earlier. Well... not so much saw him as spoke to him, anyway. He said he'd been charged to watch over us and claimed to be a friend, but my guess is that either he is or he used to be a spy. He calls himself the 'Archmage'..."

"The Archmage," Freywinn repeated blankly. "Anyone can call themselves anything out here. Did he say anything else?"

Sarannis shook her heard with a sigh, "Only that he'd be around if we needed him. I don't think he was pretending, though. I could feel his presence, even from a distance, and I _know_ that he is at least as powerful as someone deserving of that title. He... he almost reminds me of our prince, in a way."

Freywinn gaped at her. "You don't think...?"

"No," Sarannis said hurriedly. "Kael'thas is dead, and the sooner we all accept that, the better. Besides, there was a different kind of feeling about this one. I didn't sense any kind of..." she forced herself to say it, "..._taint_. I suppose Andurien might know more about-"

"Andurien? He's a damn Scryer!"

Sarannis hesitated, then nodded slowly. She didn't know how Freywinn had divined that, but that hardly mattered now. The most important thing was to prevent him from doing anything to give the refugees a reason to turn on one another. "He may be so... but at this time, we need him still."

"Commander..." Freywinn blurted out, his eyes wide with shock. She _knew_... and yet she hadn't struck him down yet?

"There will be no further discussion on this matter," Sarannis said sternly. "Was there something else you wanted to tell me?"

A long moment passed.

"Not really... no."

Sarannis narrowed her eyes. Freywinn was obviously lying, and it wasn't just because she knew something he'd thought to impart. Something else was at play here. "Let's get back to camp, then," she said, starting off in that direction before he could protest. "And stay away from the priest," she called out over her shoulder. "That's an _order_. Do you understand?"

Freywinn said nothing.

**3.**

Once her natural fear of not having good, solid ground under her feet began to subside, Vaala found herself enjoying the brief flights she was allowed with Skybane. While the Dragonmaw kept their mounts close to the ground, concerned that their drakes could throw them out of the saddle at a whim, Vaala had nothing like that to fear from her own mount. Skybane very much enjoyed these escapades, so much so that sometimes it took a great effort to coax her back into her pen.

Presently, rider and drake were gliding around the upper tier of the temple. Vaala held the reins firmly with one hand and used the other one to keep her hair out of her eyes. It had grown considerably since her arrival, and up until now she hadn't given it much thought. She would have to do something about it soon... although she wasn't in a hurry to cut it just yet. Back in her youth, she'd worn her hair long, like most girls her age. Reevan thought it looked lovely when it was down, and so she'd always tried to wear it like that when they met and kept it braided otherwise. That almost felt like it had happened in another life.

_ATTEND ME!_

Vaala almost lost her grip on the reins as Illidan's voice boomed inside her mind. She struggled to regain her balance and swore under her breath, then steered her mount downward, ignoring her roar of protest. As things were, it was clearly unwise to keep her lord and master waiting for too long.

Illidan was pacing the courtyard they usually convened in when Vaala descended. Several pillars around him bore long gashes, and one looked like it had recently been blown to pieces. If something had unsettled him to the point of doing all that...

Vaala didn't finish the thought. "I'm here," she said in a small voice as she approached him, even though every instinct screamed that she should turn and flee while she could still do it.

Illidan turned to regard her, his unnatural eyes burning fiercely even from underneath the blindfold he wore. "There has been an attack on the outer terrace," he said, his voice strained. "Varedis is dead, along with my other champions." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Do you know anything about this?"

Vaala shook her head wordlessly. The terrace that demon hunter supplicants used for training was a place she'd always made a point to avoid, precisely because it offered next to no protection against any attack. She'd voiced her concerns over it once and Illidan had subsequently dismissed them as improbable, if not impossible... because nobody would dare to strike this close to his seat of power. Then again, now was hardly the time or place to say, 'I told you so.'

"They were my finest," Illidan all but whispered, and for several moments he looked like he was truly grieving. But then he straighten up, his wings snapping open behind him and making him look all the more iposing, and any trace of sadness was gone. His voice was a roaring crescendo when he spoke next, "And in their final hour, they failed me! All of them! _Unworthy!_"

The last word almost made Vaala drop to her knees and cower. He must have sensed her fear, because his voice went back to its usual baritone when he spoke next. "This leaves me in a dire place, you see," he said slowly. "With Varedis and the others gone, I seem to be the last demon hunter alive. Of course, I _do_ intend to live forever, but I would feel so much better if there was someone else I could train... someone who would be trustworthy enough to learn my secrets and bask in my power. Someone... like you."

The words hung in the air as Vaala began to realize what she was being offered. "Oh, no, _no_..." she blurted out. "I don't... I've never-"

"Fight me."

Vaala took a step back before she could stop herself. '_You've _got_ to be kidding me_,' she thought in disbelief. Out loud, she said, "My lord...?"

"_Fight me!_ Or would you rather I cut you down where you stand?" Illidan softened his voice a little, "I've already seen what you can do. This is merely one last test. I promise I won't hurt you. Now come at me."

Vaala tried to swallow against a suddenly dry throat. She took a deep breath, willing her body under some semblance of control even as she felt her heart pounding in her ears. If she turned and ran, she had no doubts that Illidan would strike her down regardless of his earlier promise. There was no escaping this... this _test_.

"All right then..." Vaala said, and her voice sounded small and miserable to her ears. She drew her swords and charged, focusing her attention away from the fear and solely on the situation at hand. When they were less than three steps apart she suddenly changed directions again, dashing past him and ducking low a moment before one of his warglaives sliced through the space she'd passed through. She spun around, aiming for the shoulder, but he moved his other blade in time to deflect the attack. As their weapons clashed, Vaala felt the impact rattle every bone in her body. She jumped back and barely dodged another strike. By the Sun, he was _fast_!

Illidan didn't move. "Again," he called. "And don't hold back."

Vaala had no intention of doing so. She side-stepped as Illidan struck his first blow, then crouched and thrust her sword up, towards his chest. Illidan stepped back without ever bothering to raise his warglaives in defense. The blade hadn't touched him.

"Your strikes are too predictable. Again!"

'_Predictable?..._' Vaala thought, bewildered. She very much prided herself in the opposite, and her adversaries usually didn't see her move until it was too late. Illidan, on the other hand, had a different kind of sight, unholy strength, and a speed and agility she could never hope to match. A third attack on her part was subsequently met with a swing she couldn't block in time. The warglaive missed her by less than an inch, and she had no doubts it was by intention rather than luck or cunning on her part.

Illidan was beginning to get impatient. He pressed a series of attacks of his own, and Vaala focused on frantically getting out of their way rather than attempting to deflect them. He was still holding back, but his patience would run out eventually, and then he would be more than eager to pass his judgement. She had to think of a way to gain the upper hand before that... but _how?_ What could she do that he wouldn't already be - _of course!_

Vaala stood her ground, raising both swords before her and steeling herself against the blow she knew would come. The strike sent her flying back and she hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of her for several precious moments. Ignoring the light haze that clouded her sight, she reached for a dagger she carried within a hilt strapped around her ankle, took aim and threw the weapon with all her might.

Illidan barely flinched as the dagger sank into his wing and stuck there. Vaala held her breath, wondering whether this affront would finally push him over the proverbial edge. He was already in a foul mood, and his fits of murderous rage were already legendary. She looked at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry, my lord... I didn't mean to-"

"Well done!" Illidan boomed, dismissing the apology with a gesture. He reached out and yanked the dagger free, then looked it over. "Poisoned, I take it?"

"...yes." For a moment, Vaala thought to offer an anti-venom, but then she dismissed the notion as he would probably find it insulting. From what she could see, the wound was already beginning to close. She made a mental note of that. Such regeneration was beyond even the means of skilled paladins or priests, but for Illidan it came with no apparent effort on his part.

"On your feet. I'm not done with you yet."

Vaala jumped to her feet, feeling slightly more reassured now that she knew with some certainty he wasn't going to kill her after all. They clashed again and again, but she never managed to land another blow. The tiny shred of confidence she'd felt slowly began to gave way to frustration, so much so that she willed her body to keep on moving long past the point where exertion had begun to take its toll. Eventually she stumbled, then threw herself to the ground in a desperate attempt to dodge a strike she hadn't seen coming. When she tried to stand, she found that her limbs would hardly obey her. "D-damn," she stammered. "Can't..."

"Take a moment to rest, then."

Vaala did so, grateful for the brief reprieve. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, wondering idly how long they'd been sparring for. It felt like hours. When she was finally confident enough to stand again, she only managed to push herself halfway up before falling back in a heap. "Hell," she muttered, thinking, '_I'm done for._'

However, Illidan seemed to have something else in mind. He knelt next to her and - she blinked up at him, confusion warring with dread - he took her hand with a gentleness that was so unexpected it made her thoughts go almost completely blank. "Do you remember the talisman I gave you?" he asked softly.

Vaala nodded once. "Yes... why?"

"Use it. It will give you strength."

The thought of asking how to accomplish such a feat came and went just as quickly as Vaala remembered she'd done it once before, on the day she'd all but stumbled into Illidan's service. She closed her eyes once again and did her best to focus entirely on the gem, opening herself to it as fully as she dared in her weakened state. Almost immediately she felt it pulsate in response. Nothing more happened at first - and then...

Vaala gasped.

It felt like fire coursing her body, but it didn't burn in the least. Instead, it empowered her in a way that she hadn't felt since the nearly-forgotten days of glory before the Sunwell's energies had been drained. The world came into focus with frightening clarity, physical forms mingling with tendrils of arcane remnants snaking through the air. Above it all, she 'saw' Illidan's own aura, draping over the space around them like a fel shroud. With a start, Vaala realized that no-one, be it caster, swordsman or rogue, could ever hope to defeat a being of such power.

"Can you stand?"

The question cut through the sudden euphoria, reminding Vaala once more of the rather tenuous predicament she was in. She climbed to her feet slowly, finding it much easier to keep her balance now that the pain and fatigue she'd felt before were all but gone. As an afterthought she retrieved her swords, which no longer felt like dead weight in her hands.

Illidan stepped back and raised his warglaives. "One last time," he commanded. "Use all the strength you can spare, you'll have ample time to replenish it later."

It took several moments for Vaala to realize that things were... different this time. She was able to stand her ground far more often now. She could even predict, to some extent, where the next blow would land and prepare her own riposte even before his weapons met hers. Her own swords found their mark several times and even drew blood once. Emboldened by her success, Vaala began to attack more fiercely, resorting to more and more tricks she'd learned in her wanderings throughout Azeroth and Outland. At this rate, she was certain, at least, that she could survive the encounter, if only-

Vaala blinked. One of her swords spun through the air and clattered on the cobblestones, and the other followed suit as her mind struggled to comprehend how she'd been disarmed so easily. Another blow was coming, and she knew that she could never hope to get out of the way.

Illidan, however, stopped his swing as the warglaive came a mere few inches away from its target. "You lost your focus," he said reproachfully, and for a moment he sounded almost like the drill captain Vaala had been assigned to back in the day. "If this was a real battle, you'd be dead. Do _not _let it happen again."

Vaala rubbed her wrist gingerly. "My apologies," she said. "I don't usually-"

Illidan waved her into silence. "No matter..." he said after a moment. "It looks like I wasn't wrong about you, and this is more than I can say about my previous underlings. Tell me... are you any good with magic?"

Vaala forced a smile. She wasn't eager to admit any sort of weakness, but there was no way around it this time. "Terrible, my lord," she said truthfully. '_And not for lack of trying_,' she thought with an inward sigh. Most of her youth had been spent trying and failing to master the arcane arts before she'd finally given up altogether, to the extremely vocal disapproval of her family and peers.

Illidan tilted his head to one side, much like a master preparing to scold his wayward apprentice "Magic... is all around us. It merely needs to be guided, and that in itself shouldn't be hard for someone like you. Or do you think yourself unworthy of such a talent, perhaps?"

"Hardly," Vaala answered with a small shrug. "I've never had the chance to learn-"

"Then take that chance now."

Vaala looked up at him with a blank expression. "What are you-"

"Come closer, Vaala Dawnstrike, and give me your hand. I believe you are ready to receive my gift."

**4.**

Andurien was speaking to a number of refugees when Sarannis approached him, making a show of ignoring anyone in her path. She did her best to hide her displeasure at the thought of a Scryer in their midst. The priest was probably wise enough to keep his allegiance a secret to most, and whatever else he was preaching about was none of her concern.

"Commander," Andurien said pleasantly. "I was wondering where you'd gone."

Sarannis drew herself up to her full height, easily towering over the assembly. One hand rested casually on the hilt of her sword. "I need to speak with you," she said. "_Alone_."

Andurien nodded towards the others and, one by one, they stood up and left. Some of their glares made Sarannis wish she could cut them down there and then. Her earlier words must have been still fresh in their memories, and there were those who obviously didn't agree with the thought of serving Illidan when there were hardly any benefits to be reaped.

When they were finally alone, Sarannis recounted her earlier encounter with the Archmage. She watched the priest closely as she spoke, noting the brief start when she mentioned what their would-be rescuer had called himself. Andurien knew _something_, and for some reason she knew it would be vital for their survival to uncover exactly what it was. The Sunfury could hardly afford an enemy as powerful as this Archmage had proven himself to be... an,d if they were to face him eventually, they would have to be prepared.

"The Archmage, you say..." Andurien said pensively when Sarannis was finished. "I've heard of him, yes."

Sarannis waited impatiently as Andurien stared at something past her. "And...?" she asked after nearly a minute passed in silence.

"Ah... yes. Nobody knows his name, or even if he truly does hold the rank he claims. I can tell you that he is _very_ powerful, but rest assured that he means us no harm. I can vouch for that."

Sarannis narrowed her eyes. "Does he work for you, then?"

"Good grief, no!" Andurien answered quickly... perhaps too quickly, Sarannis noted with a sort of twisted satisfaction. "In fact, I'm not even sure he'd work for anyone unless he felt they were deserving of his loyalty in some way. Otherwise... there isn't enough gold in the world to make that man do something against his will. The Kirin Tor spoke very highly of him once..."

From a distance away, Freywinn watched the two as Andurien went on with his tale. For a reason he couldn't fathom, his mind simmered with pure, unbridled rage. Why did Sarannis choose to confide in this man... this _traitor_... rather than share whatever troubled her with those who were still loyal to their cause? It made no sense! Had she gone mad all of a sudden, or was there something else at play?

'_Patience_,' Freywinn thought bitterly, although at the moment he would have gladly made short work of Andurien there and then if he had his way. Sooner or later, he swore, he _would_ get to the bottom of this... even if that meant losing the one person he would follow to the gates of the Nether and beyond.

**5.**

Vaala looked from Illidan's outstretched hand to the blindfold that covered his eyes, finding no indication of what would happen next in those unnatural green orbs. Illidan looked expectant, and she knew from previous experience there would be no refusing this offer without putting herself in jeopardy once again. Hesitating, she reached out and placed her hand into his, doing her best to subdue the trembling elicited by the unexpected contact.

"You have nothing to fear," Illidan murmured soothingly as his fingers closed over hers. "I merely want to share with you some of my power..."

Vaala swallowed thickly, her voice shaking even as she replied, "I'm not afraid."

At first she sensed only a trickle of dark, rich magic, passing from his hand into hers, then coursing up her arm and spreading in all directions. Its passing left behind a strange prickling sensation, much like the feel of fine grains of sand skittering across her skin. The feeling intensified before long, and as it did so, whatever it was that crawled over her skin began to burn.

Vaala shrieked and tried to pull away, but Illidan's grip was unbreakable. Her vision blurred, the things around her losing all form and cohesion until the only things she saw were the swirls of his magic being passed on to her. His power was immense, and now that she had been allowed to tap into it, it threatened to consume her from the inside and leave behind a broken husk. The thought brought with it a new surge of panic. Vaala clawed at his arm with her free hand, again trying to break free from his grasp and end this torment before it would be too late. Her efforts did nothing but elicit a menacing growl and the words, "Be still."

After what felt like an eternity, the surge of magic finally began to recede. Vaala sank to her knees slowly, struggling to breathe past a sudden tightening in her chest. She felt strong arms closing around her, cradling her like a child, and she didn't resist. It took some time before she finally found her voice. "What..." she whispered hoarsely. She breathed deeply, then tried again, "What did you do to me?"

"I've made you stronger... faster... _better_." The last word was spoken with sinister pride, as though this 'gift' was the ultimate purpose one could hope to attain. "Do you begin to feel it yet?"

Vaala frowned, thinking. "I... I don't _know_," she answered after a moment. Her body was a melange of sensations - a dull ache that was undoubtedly a vestige of their sparring, but also a strange new alertness that clawed its way through the thick haze brought on by the pain, and the knowledge that something had definitely _changed_. Illidan's power - whatever it was that made him nigh invincible and feared throughout the land - was hers to wield, and knowing this made her feel... accomplished.

As she looked down on her wrist, Vaala realized suddenly that something was amiss. She yanked off her glove and stared, then pushed the sleeve of her tunic up as far as it would go. Encircling her wrist and going further up her arm was an intricate pattern that glowed an ominous shade of fel green, and as she touched it lightly she felt a renewed surge of power. She reached out with uncannily sharp senses and knew that the pattern extended to her chest and back as well, not quite unlike the fel scars that Illidan himself bore and likely serving a similar purpose.

"You bear the mark of a demon hunter now," Illidan said with a touch of pride. "And this is only the beginning. Soon, you will be more powerful than you could ever imagine."

Vaala bowed her head low, as was probably expected of her. "Thank you, my lord," she said reverently. _'But I didn't want this,' _she thought suddenly, even as the words refused to form on her lips.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note:**_

_Every time I check out the traffic report for this story, I do a lil' happy dance at my desk. Therefore, I'd like to extend my thanks (thank you, kamsahamnida, köszönöm, gracias, tack and grazie! =D) to all my readers - whether you left a review or not, I love you guys and gals!_

_Next chapter will be published a little late next week due to lack of Internets and quite possibly a computer to type on, too. (Re-written as of 4/27 - Apologies for the delay.)  
_

**1**.

"Steady now. Remember, the magic is yours to wield, not the other way around."

Vaala nodded her head obediently, and then focused to the best of her abilities. She was finding it increasingly easier to concentrate as of late, although she suspected that the arcane tattoos she'd been 'gifted' with probably had just as much to do with her improvement as her daily practice sessions. She observed her outstretched palms through half-lidded eyes. A fel-green flame was beginning to take shape above each, too weak to be of any use just yet. She took her time, combing the air around her for loose threads of latent energy and weaving them into her spell.

'Think of the fire as part of you, and claim it,' Illidan had taught her even before he'd shown her how to cast the spell. The flames grew stronger, until Vaala began to feel their heat. It wasn't enough to make her uncomfortable just yet, but she knew that anyone careless enough to get to close to them now would likely get hurt. Ever so slowly, the fire crept its way up her arms, then across her chest, until finally it crackled all around her like a magical shield.

"Good enough," Illidan said from some distance away. This kind of praise was just about as much as he would offer, but Vaala felt thrilled at succeeding nonetheless. Illidan wasn't the most patient of masters, and oftentimes he became exasperated when she failed to meet his ridiculously high expectations, but all in all, Vaala was _learning_. She was still slow, and sloppy to the point where Illidan would stomp and roar and call out things like 'Hopeless!' and 'Incompetent!', but this was farther than she'd ever hoped to achieve back in the day. If only her late family could see her now. They'd always decried her lack of magical talent before, but with Illidan as a master-

Even the small train of thought turned out to be enough of a distraction for the blazing shield to falter. Out of the corner of her eye, Vaala saw Illidan shake his head. "Focus," he called out, and she heard the tension in his voice. Quickly, she reinforced the spell. The flames rose again, their heat a little more intense than before. The strain of maintaining the spell and keeping her mind clear of any intruding thoughts was already becoming tiresome.

A demon hunter, Illidan claimed, could use this simple spell to keep most melee attackers at a respectable distance or cause them to become reckless and, in doing so, let themselves open for a swift counter-attack. Battle, however, hardly allowed the time Vaala would need to cast the shield, which meant that she was still far from ready to put her newly-acquired magical skills to any use. And then, the exercise didn't end at that.

Losing one's blades, whether the disarming was done by trickery or sheer force, would usually spell a death sentence for any fighter. Vaala's own swords lay some distance away, and the next part of the exercise called for her to form a second spell, one that would return her weapons to her in an instant. She closed her eyes and envisioned one of them now, then reached out with her altered senses. The flame shield flickered dangerously even as her fingers closed around the hilt.

"Well done," Illidan commented, sounding somewhat reluctant to acknowledge her success.

Vaala grinned a little as she willed the flames to die down slowly, rather than cutting them off altogether and risking to lose control. Of course, with a master such as Illidan, she knew that a single success wouldn't be enough to end the day on such a high note. And, sure enough, it wasn't long before Illidan called out, "Again!"

The exercise was repeated several more times before Illidan was pleased enough to allow his newest protege to rest. During her breaks, he usually taught her how to form other spells, which were a lot easier to understand when he demonstrated the motions himself before he allowed her to try. Today, however, Vaala found herself distracted by the more mundane sensations of hunger and fatigue. Still, she did her best to listen and take note.

Illidan really did like to hear himself talk, Vaala thought with an inward grin as he changed the subject from magic and its near-limitless uses to the recent Sunfury victory at the Altar of Sha'tar. "Gathios tells me there were only a handful of defenders left," he said, and pride was evident in his voice this time. "The rest of them must have fled when they caught wind of my troops approaching. This, of course, is but the first of many victories that I expect my Sunfury to achieve."

"Doubtless, my lord," Vaala said with just enough conviction to sound sincere. She had her doubts that the Aldor would so readily abandon their outpost, but she chose to keep them to herself for now. It was just as likely that the draenei and their allies had merely doubled back to meet up with the reinforcements from Shattrath.

Illidan frowned in a manner that Vaala had come to recognize as a tell-tale sign of suspicion. "Is something the matter?"

"Well, if you _must_ know..." Vaala paused a little, knowing to tread lightly when disagreeing with her master. "Fleeing in the wake of battle doesn't seem like the Aldor, from what I've seen. They've always struck me like the kind to stand and fight to the last man. If they abandoned their outpost, they probably did so with the knowledge that they would be strong enough to reclaim it later. A tactical retreat, if you will."

"A tactical retreat, you say?" Illidan asked, sounding amused rather than offended this time. "'Defeat' would be a better-suited word. They Aldor were foolish enough to think that I would suffer their presence indefinitely, and were proven wrong. My forces chased them to the other end of the valley and beyond. They will have no time to regroup before they are obliterated."

Vaala shrugged. It was pointless to argue the matter any further. "Of course, my lord. I expect we won't be seeing them again."

The sarcasm was missed entirely. "Good. Now get back on your feet. You still have a lot to learn today."

**2.**

"This is it," Sarannis proclaimed with an encompassing gesture. "I want you in groups of three or four, and make sure there are enough torches to go around. We will proceed momentarily, but in the meantime, stand your ground."

The order was met with mutters and half-hearted salutes. Many of the refugees looked far more eager to scale the jagged peak that barred their way rather than take this path. The tunnel connecting the Blade's Edge mountains with the marshlands beyond was dark and foreboding. Nothing stirred in the darkness, but there was a faint, sickeningly sweet odor coming from the depths. It was the smell of decay.

"I'll take some men and scout ahead," Freywinn offered in a rare display of initiative on his part.

Sarannis shook her head. A few strands of hair had come loose from the bun she usually wore and framed her pale face, billowing gently in the wind. Freywinn found himself staring for a few seconds before the commander's voice brought him out of his minute reverie. "No," she said. "My Bloodwarders and I will go first, and I need you to stay here with the others. Wait for a while, then lead them through. Small groups, as I said, and try to keep the order as much as you can. We'll be waiting on the other side."

Freywinn nodded to show he'd understood the orders. Belatedly, he said, "Be careful."

Sarannis laughed, a bitter sound that showed just how useless she found such advice. "Always," she said.

It was only after the scouting party disappeared inside the tunnel that Freywinn realized something. This was the first time he'd heard Sarannis laugh since the fall of Tempest Keep. He tried to remember the sound but found, to his dismay, that he couldn't. The journey thus far had been a long chain of exhausting ordeals, from simple ones - such as deciding food ratios and scouring the peaks and crevices for any creatures large enough to boast their supplies - to keeping alive and, even more troublesome, keeping _others_ alive as well. Leadership was a sort of responsibility Freywinn had never truly coveted and, now that he'd become one of those to whom others looked up to for guidance and protection, he felt even less content with his status. If only-

"High Botanist...?"

Freywinn spun around. "Yes, what?" he snapped, a little more rudely than he'd intended. Then, seeing who it was, he wished he'd been even more rude.

"I believe enough time has passed," Andurien said pleasantly. "Myself and a few others can lead the way. A magister-"

"_I'll _be leading the way, thank you," Freywinn interjected. "You can take some of the casters and bring up the rear. Their lighting spells should be enough to deter any pursuit by... by whatever might be still lurking down there."

Andurien acknowledged the order with a gracious nod. "As you wish."

Any semblance of order was quickly lost when the refugees entered the tunnel and saw their torches extinguished by the strong air currents inside. Freywinn called out for the magisters to conjure orbs of light or flame, and thankfully their spells were enough to see by. With some effort, the groups were formed again, and a caster was assigned to each party to make sure that nobody would be wandering aimlessly in the darkness. Some hundred paces away from the entrance the tunnel narrowed, then opened up into a large cavern of sorts. From there, the path continued downward and the stone became slippery underfoot.

Freywinn had taken the lead, flanked by a magister on either side. Several guards walked a few paces behind them, swords half-drawn and eyes alert for anything out of the ordinary. With little else to distract him, Freywinn began to go over some of the spells he'd uncovered while working in the Botanica in his mind, wondering if any could be of use now. Most had something to do with manipulating the life energies of plants and small animals whose minds were simple enough to be controlled. It was a different sort of magic, much like the kind those accursed kal'dorei druids were said to employ. His fellow researchers had been jesting at first, then incredulous, then finally impressed with his progress. Freywinn felt a pang of satisfaction knowing that his research had saved his life in the end where countless others had been slain.

Lost in his own thoughts as he was, Freywinn didn't realize that the sound of footsteps behind him had died down almost completely until he found himself walking alone. He turned around and saw that the others had stopped and were staring at something he couldn't quite see. "What is it?" he called out as he made his way back. Then, a moment later, he stopped as well and said, "Oh." The tunnel was branching off here, and the passage was considerably more narrow than the one that had taken them this far. There was no telling whether Sarannis and her party had gone this way.

"We should split up..." Freywinn began before he remembered the commander's earlier instructions. Then again, what else was there to do? For all he knew, either path could stretch on for miles or even double back to the mountains and emerge in who knew what Light-forsaken place.

"Sir... if I may?" one of the guards said respectfully.

Freywinn turned towards the man. "You have something to propose?" he asked lightly, careful not to let any sort of insecurity show in his voice.

"I believe we should keep going this way." Speaking, the guard pointed ahead. "There's a really foul smell coming from the tunnel. Something's been rotting down there."

Freywinn had to admit that the guard's judgment was sound. "All right then – what's your name?" He would need someone to pin the blame on if something went wrong.

"Lorash Sunshatter, sir," the guard said, and saluted.

"Very well... Lorash. Take a few more men with you and scout this path, just to be safe. The rest of us will be waiting for you here."

"Do you wish to join us, sir?"

Freywinn arched his eyebrows. "Join you - down _there?_" The prospect was hardly enticing - but then again, he _was_ the leader. "Yes, well, why not."

As the small party set in motion, Freywinn congratulated himself on a job well done. This tunnel was far more capricious then the last, changing directions every so often and making it impossible to get any feel of the distance they'd covered. Sarannis would certainly be impressed if she knew how swiftly he'd handled this situation, and she might even-

"Blast!" Lorash shouted from somewhere up ahead.

"What? What is it?" Freywinn called back, striding past others to see how the universe would choose to spite him this time.

"It's a dead end, sir," Lorash answered, his voice echoing several times in the near-darkness. "What now?"

Freywinn stopped and sighed. "We double back, that's what we do," he answered tiredly. What _else_ was there to do? "I'll have you and your party wait at the mouth of this tunnel until everyone has gone past. You can join Andurien and the others at the back once everyone else has gone past. And make sure there are no strays. If anyone gets lost down here, they're on their own."

**3.**

If Vaala had felt tired before, now she was truly exhausted. Illidan had warned her in the beginning that his training was not for the meek, and indeed the days since then had felt like a lifetime each. At the end of her training, Vaala barely had enough strength left to crawl back to her chambers, eat a frugal meal and collapse on top of her bed, asleep even before her body hit the moldy sheets.

This evening, however – at least, Vaala assumed that in other parts of Draenor, the sun was setting or close to it – would be different. There had been no word from Reevan in quite some time, and Vaala was becoming more worried every day. Illidan wouldn't call on her until the next morning at least, which allowed her enough time to call on her brother and learn what he'd been doing all this time. The scrying orb glowed in the near-darkness, but the mists inside were still. As the minutes dragged by, Vaala felt a thin sheen of sweat cover her brow. Illidan had guaranteed his safety, but his underlings were none the wiser when it came to fighting their own battles. What if-

The mists parted at last, and the image of her brother began to take shape inside the orb. Vaala breathed a sigh of relief even as she noticed that Reevan looked far worse for the wear than the last time they'd spoken. "It's been a while," were the first words he said. Then, after a moment, "Are you well?"

"As good as can be expected under the circumstances. And... better than you, I suppose. How goes the war?"

"As good as can be expected," Reevan answered in the same tone. "I take it you know about the Aldor?"

"I know what my - what Illidan told me, at least. Did they ever manage to regroup?"

"They did a lot more than regroup, if the missive I received is anything to go by. Your 'master' will not be pleased with the news, when - or rather, if it does reach him at all. As far as I know, the Aldor left no Illidari alive to bring back word of their defeat."

"How fortunate," Vaala commented dryly. Inwardly, she prodded at the mental link between her and her master and, to her relief, found it unresponsive. This was certainly not the way she wanted Illidan to find out that he'd lost even more troops to the Aldor. "What about the Murkbloods?"

"Miserable as ever, from what I found." Reevan paused, then lowered his voice slightly. "Their first uprising may have failed, but they may yet become a force to be reckoned with, and an invaluable ally once we move against the Dragonmaw. And better still... the _dragons_ themselves are willing to fight on our side once we offer them sufficient proof that we mean them no harm. In fact, I plan to go out and meet their leaders once-"

"Don't do anything reckless," Vaala said quickly. "In fact, don't do _anything_ unless I say it's safe. With the Aldor gone, your outpost became the nearest target for Gathios and his troops. Outnumbered as you are-"

Reevan waved her into silence. "Your concern does you credit," he said lightly. "Are you allowed to speak of it so freely, though? Last I gathered, you said such feelings were inappropriate between us."

The memory of their first conversation since her apparent change of loyalty made Vaala smile a little. "That was then, and I'm allowed to do much more than that, Reevan. I can _protect_ you. And, before you say anything... I can't even begin to tell you how glad I am that you're all right."

It took a moment for Reevan to catch the not-so-subtle hint. "Likewise," he said at last, "but now I must ask... what in the hell _happened_ to you, Vaala? At first, I thought you were dead... then, one of my men-"

"It's a long story," Vaala interrupted, and indeed explaining everything that had transpired lately would have taken the better part of the night.

Reevan shook his head sadly. "I have no doubts about that, and I wish time would allow me to hear it, but I'll be leaving for Shattrath first thing at dawn. If that old fool, Voren'thal, could ever be persuaded to smooth over our diplomatic ties with the Aldor, now is the time to do it... although I'm certain he would also want to hear your findings first-hand. In fact, the sooner you return to my ranks, the better for us all. I hear you've gained some standing within Illidan's ranks, but not even that can save you should you be found out. And that... is a risk I can no longer ask you to take."

"Are you... recalling me?" Vaala asked in a small voice, feeling the frail comfort she'd managed to build up to keep her sanity intact begin to fall apart.

There was a brief moment of silence, then, "Tonight, if at all possible. If not, then tell me when, and my men will set up a distraction and allow you to break free."

"No," Vaala said quietly.

Reevan narrowed his eyes. "And why is that?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion now.

Vaala began to feel uneasiness creep into her mind, a feeling she wasn't at all accustomed with. "Because I... I can't do that. Not yet." Gods, what reason could she offer? That she was trading her life in exchange for his? This certainly was the case, as Illidan knew enough to track her down and meet such betrayal with a swift and gruesome revenge... and not even stop at that. In the end, she settled for, "There are still things I need to take care of here."

"What manner of 'things' could be important enough for you to..." Reevan trailed off as a different kind of understanding dawned. "Unless... you have truly abandoned our cause."

Vaala shook her head wryly. "Your cause was never mine," she said. "The only reason I ever agreed to do this was because you asked. I couldn't care less about the war, and you knew that from the beginning. And even so, if there hadn't been for me, it would be the Scryers, not the Aldor, who would be fighting to reclaim their territory. Does that mean nothing?"

"I need to know..." Reevan took a deep breath, and Vaala cringed when she saw his distress. "I need to know where your loyalties lie. And I need to know _now_."

This was the moment that Vaala had been dreading since the beginning. If there was even the smallest chance that Reevan thought she were being kept against her will, she knew he'd stop at nothing to set her free, even when his well-intended help would do nothing but cripple everything that she'd been working for thus far. She swallowed thickly. The only way out of this situation - and, indeed, the only way that both of them could work unhindered from here on out - would also mean that he would be lost to her forever. "My loyalties," she began, struggling to keep any and all emotion out of her voice, "have always lied with the highest bidder. You should have known that."

Reevan's expression hardened, and his voice was cold as ice when he spoke next. "I see you have already chosen your path, then," he said. "I can only hope that it was worth it."

'_You have no idea_,' Vaala thought bitterly even as she forced herself to look away from the orb.

"If we meet in battle, I... will not hold back." There was only the slightest hesitation to the words. "Goodbye, Vaala. We will not speak again."

**4.**

The tunnel appeared to go on for miles, but the path was clear and there were no more side passages or alcoves to confuse the refugees. The stench of rot came and went as the currents shifted, making everybody uneasy. Here and there, the light that guided them would revealed rusted pieces of armor and whitened bones, signs that other travelers had met their end here in decades past. And then, the walls of the cavern were draped in webs not unlike those made by spiders native to Azeroth. A careless refugee had brushed against one of them and fallen catatonic a mere few moments after. Thankfully, the one incident hadn't awakened whatever had woven the silken trap.

Freywinn had set a slow pace, intent on keeping the groups close enough that none would be left behind. It seemed like several hours had gone past when those walking at the front finally saw a faint glimmer of light up ahead. The news spread like wildfire and, as it did, many abandoned all caution and broke into a run, eager to taste fresh air and be out in the open once again. Their enthusiasm, however, was curbed just as quickly when the first refugees to emerge into the Zangarmarsh found themselves knee-deep into the muddy water and doubled back to solid ground.

In spite of the small setback, Freywinn was immediately taken aback by the alien beauty of the land. The skies above the Blade's Edge mountains had been blood-red and ominous, while here, the light filtered through the thick mists that hung in the air, giving everything a blue-green tint. Phosphorescent lichen clung to the stalks of mushrooms that looked like they were several decades old at least. The grass was thick and lush, and the dew that clung to it sparkled in a myriad of colors wherever the light touched it. The silence was pierced by strange, primal cries.

There was a narrow, winding path that started at the mouth of the tunnel and circled around a small mound. Sarannis and her party had already set up their tents there, and once the first of the refugees reached the mound they were immediately told to do the same. "Is everyone present and accounted for?" Sarannis asked Freywinn as soon as she saw him approach.

"And _I'm_ glad to see _you're_ all right, too," Freywinn answered, not caring that his fatigue made him sound callous. "Yes, I believe so."

"What about Andurien?"

Freywinn shrugged and turned to survey the camp, to hide his grimace rather than out of any concern for the priest. "At the back, where I ordered him to be. I must say, though, he did an _excellent_ job in keeping the shadows from overtaking us from behind."

"Good for him, then," Sarannis replied, sounding slightly amused this time. Then, her demeanor grew serious once again. "Our people are in no shape to go any further after what we've been through today, so we'll be camping here for the night and keep on heading south once the morning comes."

"Is it wise to stay here, though?"

Sarannis shrugged her shoulders once. "My guards can handle anything that may have followed us. If it makes you sleep easier, I can assign you a bodyguard for the night."

"That won't be necessary," Freywinn said quickly, raising his hands in an almost comical display. "I'll be on my way then, and I'll see you in the morning. Or sooner, if something happens. Which it won't, of course." He swallowed thickly, then spun on one heel and hurried away. Belatedly, he called over his shoulder, "Good night!"

**5. **

The night passed without incident - and yet, when the first rays of sunlight hit the top of the tallest mushrooms, Sarannis had barely slept a wink. She knew the day would demand her to be well-rested and alert, but sleep had all but eluded her. There were many thoughts vying for her attention, and out of those, the uncertain fate of their journey weighed most heavily on her mind. She'd thought to stop in Shattrath for supplies and information between continuing onward to Shadowmoon, but that prospect seemed a lot more far-fetched now than it had at the beginning of their trek. There were many who didn't think Illidan would honor his old allegiance. And truthfully, what reason did he have to take in a handful of blood elves when most of their race had already turned against him, one way or another? The betrayal of the Scryers was known far and wide, and surely word of the pact between Kael'thas and Kil'jaeden must have reached the Black Temple by now. The more Sarannis thought about it, the more she realized that those doubting their former lord's benevolence were probably right.

With an effort, Sarannis pushed the thought aside. The journey through the marsh would take a while still, and there was plenty of time to decide where to go once they reached the outskirts of Terokkar Forest. Right now, there was another matter on her mind, one that was far more present and could have disastrous consequences if not handled outright.

There was no denying that something was odd about Freywinn. His behavior had changed considerably as of late. He was becoming slightly more pleasant by the day, taking the time to engage in small conversation every now and then, and most of that didn't even revolve around his lost experiments... for a change. The way he acted around her, in fact, was almost as if he enjoyed her company, which would have been a ridiculous notion a mere few weeks ago. In fact, something about him almost made it seem like he was...

'_Courting me?'_ Sarannis thought with utter disbelief. Surely, that wasn't true! And yet... as she'd returned to her tent the night before, she'd found a wreathe of flowers placed neatly on her sleeping mat, and she'd definitely seen Freywinn sneak off to somewhere not long before that. The flowers were still where she'd tossed them, and looking every bit as fresh as they had when she'd found them, and such a feat could only be accomplished by one who was privy to the intricate ways of natural magic.

Sarannis jumped to her feet. The few others who were already awake turned to regard her with open curiosity as she strode through the camp towards where she'd last seen Freywinn, but she paid them no mind. If the botanist was indeed lovestruck, then Sarannis would have to set him straight right away. Love was the last thing she wanted to concern herself with, if only because the duties of leadership left precious little time for anything else and she could ill-afford such a flitting distraction. She could vaguely recall the few pretenders she'd had back in her youth. Most of them had been little more than blathering idiots. They'd come and gone, taking their chances despite being told off time and again, until Sarannis had come to accept that there would be no man worthy of her – not then, not ever – and she still held on to that belief.

Freywinn was still asleep when she found him. He didn't have a tent, and instead he slept on some sort of a rug he'd salvaged from Tempest Keep. He tossed and turned, looking as though he were having a nightmare. Then again, everyone's dreams had been troubled as of late. At least some still found it in them to sleep. Sarannis paused, wondering if she should wake him. After all, she would only be doing him a favor... right?

Suddenly, Freywinn sat upright. He looked around in confusion and gave a start when he finally saw her. "Oh... I'm sorry," he muttered. "Did you -" he yawned "- did you need me for anything? I was just resting my eyes."

"I wasn't coming to see you," Sarannis lied even as part of her wondered why she wasn't getting to the point and getting this charade over with. "I was just passing by and saw you thrashing around like a murloc on dry land. What's bothering you?"

"It's... it's nothing, just... dreams," Freywinn sighed, rubbing his temples, though Sarannis could have probably told that much. "They've been... I've been... I saw things, and I don't even know what they were supposed to be. Something was watching me..."

Sarannis didn't like this at all. It wasn't like Freywinn to fancy things, and now she wondered if he'd finally snapped and lost his proverbial marbles. "There's nothing out there but the marsh," she said as gently as she could. Then, for whatever reason, she added, "We're safe out here. I promise."

"I'll feel a lot safer once we're on the move again," Freywinn grumbled, but his tone made it clear whatever fears were haunting him had subsided, if only a little. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you, by the way. I-"

"We won't be leaving for a few hours still, so you might as well go back to sleep," Sarannis interrupted even as she felt her heart skip a beat. Was this truly how he intended to tell her? What a fool.

"But I-"

"Rest now," Sarannis said again, a little more sternly this time. "We'll talk once we set off."

Freywinn lay back on his rug with a small smile. "All right, all right," he said before he closed her eyes. "Your loss," was the last thing he muttered before he was fast asleep. And only then, Sarannis realized that she was smiling, too.

**6.**

Some hours had gone by - Vaala couldn't tell how many, and she didn't care to know. She replayed her brother's last words in her mind over and over again, content to know he wouldn't put his life at risk for her, but also dismayed at the thought that he had branded her a traitor. There was no other way, of course - and still... it _hurt_. There were no words to name the feelings that warred inside her thoughts, only the knowledge that something had broken and would never be the same again.

_Awake already? _

"I didn't sleep."

A pause, then,_ Are you unwell? _

Vaala gave a half-hearted shrug. The gesture was probably useless since Illidan wasn't there to see it, but she couldn't care less. If he could tap their link and find out what troubled her, then so be it, although she doubted he would care unless -

A second later, Vaala found that she was no longer in her chambers. The spell had come and gone so swiftly she'd barely had time to register it, and for a moment she thought she'd been summoned to the temple summit again. But this was a different place entirely. For one, there was a ceiling high overhead, and the cobblestones under her bare feet felt smooth and cleaner than in other places. And then, there was a hint of something in the air... Vaala breathed the scent, and a moment later she recognized the all-too-familiar fragrance of fadeleaf flowers, which had once grown in abundance in the verdant forests around Quel'thalas.

As her eyes began to adjust to the near-darkness, Vaala found that she stood in the middle of an alley, and all around her was a lush garden the likes of which she hadn't seen since her early years in Silvermoon. There were many different kinds of plants here, some potted, others appearing to grow straight out of the floor, and most of them thriving if their bright coloration and strong vines were any indication. The sound of rushing water came from somewhere nearby, which meant there had to be a stream somewhere in the vicinity. The presence of such a place inside the temple was mesmerizing.

"My lord...?" Vaala called out weakly. What kind of game was he playing this time?

_I thought this place would be more to your liking_, came the answer. _I will be there presently_.

"Why would you..." Vaala began, then stopped as Illidan appeared in a swirl of fel magic. He looked... concerned, if such a thing was even possible.

"I felt your distress through the link," Illidan said after the last remnants of magic faded away. "Something troubles you. What is it?"

Vaala opened her mouth to speak, then closed it when the words – any words – refused to come out.

"Have I been pushing you too hard? I can allow you to rest for a day or two."

"It's not that," Vaala said in a small voice, although in any other circumstances she would have readily accepted such a generous offer.

"Then?" Illidan asked when she didn't add anything else."Did something happen to your brother? Because, if that is the case, I can assure you that those responsible for it will suffer dearly. I guaranteed his safety, and I'm not one to go back on my word."

"My brother is... _fine._" Vaala took a deep breath. "We spoke tonight. He said..." Another breath. There was a painful throbbing in her chest, and with a start she realized that she wanted to cry. She hadn't cried in years, not since - but she wouldn't think of that, wouldn't think of _him_, not _now_ of all times... "He wanted me to return."

Illidan raised a hand and looked almost ready to reach out to her, but then he lowered it and the moment passed. "And what did you say to that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Vaala answered bitterly. "He wanted to know where my loyalties lie. I told him..." A tear rolled out of the corner of her eye, unbidden. She brought up a hand and quickly wiped it away, then shook her head, hoping against all hope that the tangle of sensations threatening to overcome her would go away. It didn't. More tears followed the first even as Vaala reminded herself fiercely that she wasn't supposed to show this kind of emotion. It made her vulnerable. It made her _weak_. She closed her eyes tightly, despising herself for it. "I told him I was staying," she said, struggling to keep her voice under control.

A large, taloned hand closed over hers. Vaala looked up through the veil of tears, wondering if she was imagining it. Before she could voice her puzzlement, Illidan wrapped his other arm around her shoulder and pulled her into an awkward embrace. Her first instinct was to push him away. After all, since when did Illidan give a damn about anything other than himself and his delusional plans? But he was there, and he was real, and he wasn't going to leave her alone... no, never alone, not like that day, that one wretched day when... _when..._

'_No_,' said a small voice at the back of her mind. It was the voice of reason, and Vaala held on to it with all her strength. '_It shouldn't hurt like this. Not anymore._' She steadied her breath and pushed back the memories. The past was only that: the past. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, pulling away. For a moment she worried that the gesture would be misunderstood, but Illidan seemed just as eager to let go. "I lost myself, but I'm fine now," she went on, even as she thought, '_Not entirely. Not yet. But I will be._'

Illidan crossed his arms with a half-smile, "Good. Now... are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to pry it from your thoughts?"

Vaala found herself mirroring the smile. He wouldn't - but of _course_ he would. What Illidan wanted, Illidan reached out and took for himself regardless of whether it was being offered or not. In so many words, she recounted the conversation, careful to leave out the parts about the Aldor victory and the Scryers allying themselves with the Murkbloods. Her voice was steadier now, and her gaze never left his.

"I see," Illidan said when she was finished. "It's no wonder you were upset, then. I suppose there isn't anything more you can do. He made his choice... and, so did you." He paused. "Your loyalty surprises me, however. That you would forsake your own kin in order to keep serving me... I am pleased."

Vaala bowed her head in silence. For a while, there was no sound save for that of water dripping somewhere out of sight.

"I will not be requiring your presence today," Illidan said at length. "You are free to remain here as long as you so desire. Lady Malande won't mind, as I've made sure to keep her busy for the time being. You will be undisturbed."

So this was Lady Malande's private sanctum, then. No wonder everything about this place felt so serene. "Thank you, my lord," Vaala said reverently.

Once Illidan had gone, Vaala found a finely-chiseled stone bench and sat down heavily, wondering if she'd imagined the conversation. That Illidan would be so open, and so... kind... was something new entirely. Nevertheless, she chastised herself sharply for letting her mind be overtaken by emotion before turning her thoughts away from that and entirely towards the situation at hand. Reevan was self-righteous and stubborn, she knew that much. In his mind, he'd already branded her a traitor – the thought brought with it renewed feelings of pain and longing, which she quickly pushed away – and truthfully, she was a traitor to his Scryers and to most of the other factions on Draenor. Reevan was not, could never be her enemy... but _she_ was _his_ enemy now.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note:**_

_Currently in the process of moving to another town, therefore busy, busy, busy. Nothing interesting to say this week, sorry =\ (Re-written as of 4/28)  
_

**1.**

The Dragonmaw were in a state of utter disarray when Vaala reached their stronghold. A large section of the outer wall had been torn down, and many orcs lay dead where spells and arrows had pierced them. Whatever enemies had laid waste to Illidan's drake raiders had known exactly how to strike and inflict the most casualties before pulling away. Not even the infant drakes that the Dragonmaw nurtured had been spared.

Vaala had been ordered to investigate whatever 'disturbance' had caused all communication from the orcish fortress to cease, but she hadn't expected to find such devastation. Neither had Illidan, who was even now surveying the scene through her eyes. She could feel his rage pouring from the link they shared and slithering into her own mind, which made her feel more tense than usual.

A few orcs scurried to get out of the way as Skybane descended in their midst. Vaala knew that the Fel Horde valued a brash display, and so she took her time to dismount, then drew herself up to her full height and looked around with a hand on her hip. The carnage was even more apparent from the ground.

"Take me to whoever's in charge," Vaala demanded to the nearest orc, a hulking male whose elaborate armor marked him as one of the more valuable members of his clan.

The orc glared at her in a manner that made Vaala instinctively reach for the hilt of one sword. "We were expecting reinforcements," he said defiantly. "They slaughtered every one of-"

"Do I look like I have time for idle banter?" Vaala snapped, wondering if this would earn her another needless fight.

"No – but..."

"Then do it, or find me someone capable enough to follow _orders!_" It was surprisingly easy to keep the act of a high-ranking prick. She'd seen other Sunfury do it enough times to know exactly what tone and manner to employ. The orc hung his head and motioned for her to follow.

They walked up a wide path, then past another gate that had been battered in, and finally they reached a small courtyard flanked by guard towers on either side. There was only one body here, so horribly mangled that its features were almost indistinguishable. Vaala had seen her fair share of gruesome displays, but still she felt grateful that her stomach didn't hold anything to hurl. "What's _this?_"

The orc held her gaze for a few seconds before looking down at the broken corpse. "You asked me to take you to our leader. This is him. This is Zuluhed."

Vaala felt Illidan's presence stir in her mind. _Find out who did this._ This was a nigh impossible feat given the circumstances, but she was wise enough not to argue. "Who did this?" she asked, softening her voice just slightly. She could see that being in the presence of the slain leader unsettled the other orc.

"They say outlanders were here," the orc said with obvious disdain. "They came and went... that way," he waved a hand to point vaguely to the west.

This didn't offer much insight. 'Outlanders' could have meant anything, from mercenaries to the Horde or Alliance or any other faction that opposed the Illidari. "All right then," Vaala sighed, realizing that questioning this orc any further was probably a waste of time. "Is there anyone in charge now? Anyone _alive_?"

The orc shrugged.

"Then you'll have to do. Get this place sorted out, give your dead a proper send-off, then find out anything you can about the attackers. I'll expect a full report by the end of the day." Belatedly, Vaala remembered something else. "What's your name?"

"They call me Ferug." To his credit, Ferug didn't seem fazed by the sudden promotion. This kind of thing probably happened far too often within the ranks of the Dragonmaw to come across as anything but natural.

"Good. Now listen to me closely, Ferug. Our master doesn't take kindly to failure. I expect you to get to the bottom of this quickly. Otherwise, what happened to Zuluhed will be nothing compared to what Illidan will do to you."

Ferug nodded grimly. He understood. For her part, Vaala had no doubts that Illidan would eventually pin the blame on someone either way - and, knowing Illidan and his fits of rage, any scapegoat would do if the true culprits weren't caught in the end. She could almost find it in her heart to feel sorry for Ferug then.

**2. **

Illidan soared high above the Black Temple. He could see the entire valley from here... his valley. Whatever fools had thought to defy him would soon learn their terrible mistake... It would be too late for them, of course, but their lesson would serve well to the rest of this world... and... maybe... other worlds, as well. After all, why not? He knew he was invincible. Not even Arthas could claim victory over him in the end. And yet... somehow... lately, the faintest trace of a doubt had begun to creep into his mind. Things were not happening as planned. The enemy was growing bolder. Scryers and Aldor, Horde and Alliance... they all thought to deny him his rightful conquest. But soon... yes, soon, he would strike back. And they would learn their proper place. After all, he was Illidan Stormrage, and he would never lose. Not to them. Not to _anyone. _

**3.**

Traveling through the Zangarmarsh was far more pleasant than trudging across the rocky paths of the Blade's Edge Mountains. There were few dangers, if any at all, and the landscape was an ever-changing kaleidoscope of wonders. Freywinn had never thought it possible for so many shades of green and azure to exist in one place. Part of him longed to stop and categorize each new and fascinating specimen they came across. However, even though their pace had slowed considerably over the last few days, there wasn't enough time for that, so in the end he had no choice but to simply enjoy the view.

Sarannis, on the other hand, seemed far less interested in the scenery. She rode next to him in silence, stopping only to turn and shout orders at her ever-present Bloodwarder guards. Otherwise, she was oddly quiet as of late, and Freywinn could fathom why. With each passing day, they got closer to Shattrath. Whatever was to happen then was still uncertain, and Sarannis didn't like uncertainties.

Freywinn straightened up in the saddle and prodded his mount closer to hers. Perhaps he could cheer her up. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he began.

Sarannis gave him a blank look. "We're not here to admire the scenery, Freywinn," she said levelly.

The botanist had been expecting such an answer. "There isn't much else to do at the moment, though," he pressed. "Besides, you've been awfully quiet today. What's wrong?"

"I... have a lot on my mind," Sarannis answered after a few moments, and then she sighed.

Freywinn knew that Sarannis was not one to open up so easily, and for the moment he decided that trying any harder wasn't going to earn him anything but a half-hearted order to leave her be. He let his mount wander away and once again took refuge in observing the alien landscape, which kept his mind busy enough until the refugees stopped to make camp for the night. Their chosen site was on the bank of a lake so large that the other end was all but obscured by the mists that rose from its surface. The water was clear enough to reveal all sorts of strange creatures swimming underneath, a thing which immediately sparked a wave of enthusiasm throughout the camp.

"It would appear that we're to have a rather exotic dinner tonight," Freywinn commented, jerking his thumb towards a group of blood elves who were readying what looked like crude fishing poles.

Sarannis shrugged her shoulders tiredly. "I still have some dried strider meat if you'd like," she offered.

Freywinn sighed wistfully. "Why not... although it seems like bloody _forever_ since either of us had a decent meal. Something with first, second and third course and some desert after. And wine... _good_ wine, not the kind... of..." He clamped his mouth shut, wondering if he should pretend to have forgotten something and scurry away with his dignity intact. Sarannis was regarding him with a strange look on her face, almost like... longing.

"You're thinking of Silvermoon, aren't you," Freywinn said quietly.

Sarannis's expression hardened. "Of course not!" she snapped. "It's foolish of you to even mention that name. We'd never be welcomed there – not after everything that's happened. You of all people should know _that!_"

She _was_ thinking about Silvermoon, though. Her reaction made it evident enough. However, Freywinn decided to touch upon the root of the problem. "What then?" he asked.

Sarannis took a long time to answer. "We cannot hope to cross the rest of Draenor with however few people decide to stay... and those damned Scryers would never allow us to remain in Shattrath, even though Andurien seems to think otherwise. The 'great' A'dal -" she winced at the name "- would not suffer our presence for all -"

Freywinn put a finger to her lips to silence her. The boldness of the gesture surprised them both, but he decided he'd let his anxiety get the better of him another time. "You shouldn't think like that," he said softly. "Shattrath is a large city. No-one would know us there."

"But those who followed us from -"

"They are all here because of _you. _Had you not lead them, I'm sure many more would have perished by now. I'm certain they all think this way, even those who wouldn't admit it out loud."

There was a pause, each one of them dwelling on their own thoughts. "If I'm not mistaken, you were the one who said we wouldn't be welcomed anywhere but Shadowmoon Valley," Sarannis said after a while.

Freywinn hung his head in shame. "I... used to think that lord Illidan would redeem us, yes. It seemed like the only logical thing to do, rejoining with our brethren to the south and hope that we would somehow find our place there. But now I know enough to realize that it was merely wishful thinking on my part. There is but a handful of us left now, and come tomorrow, we may be fewer still. What use would Illidan find for us, other than perhaps make an example in front of his own soldiers?"

"It's strange..." Sarannis mused. "Andurien told me the very same things the other night. But knowing where we _can't _go does little to help us now, and I'm not one to skulk in the shadows like some thief on the run."

Freywinn turned his thoughts away from the burning jealousy any mention of the priest's name would bring. "Maybe we won't have to skulk in the shadows, as you said. Shattrath is a large place, and there are many adventurers coming and going every day. If worst comes to worst and we _are_ found out, then we can always find another place to start over with our lives." He smiled wryly, "After all, what are we if not resilient?"

Sarannis stared at him. "Start over with our lives? We pledged ourselves to lord Illidan!"

"No," Freywinn said matter-of-factly. "It was Kael'thas who made the pledge, and it was Kael'thas who later made us turn against his former master to side with the very enemy we were supposed to dispose of." Now, it was his turn to become passionate about the issue at hand. "Don't you see? We were nothing but pawns all along! Words like 'blood' and 'honor' and 'allegiance' are all nice and fancy until someone ends up dead because of them!" He'd almost shouted the last words, but he didn't care. Somehow, the more he spoke, the clearer his thoughts became. Things that had been lurking at the very edge of his awareness were much clearer now. He saw _reason_, and it was glorious.

But Sarannis still appeared to be in two minds. "I am a soldier, Freywinn. Neither myself nor my Bloodwarders know how to do anything else. Besides... how could I forsake them now?"

Freywinn hadn't thought about that. The Bloodwarders were fiercely loyal to their commander, but their loyalty came with a price. In turns, Sarannis felt a strong responsibility towards each and every one of them as well, almost like a motherly figure of sorts.

Unless...

"No-one says you can, or should," Freywinn said cautiously. "But surely... they can decide what they want to do for themselves. Given their talents, they could just as easily enroll with the peacekeepers, or..." He waved a hand irritably, "Or whatever else. Jobs are anything but scarce in Shattrath. Don't you see it? It's the perfect place for us to start over!"

Sarannis gave him a curious look. "For 'us'?" she asked lightly.

"Yes... us," Freywinn answered, wondering what -

Oh, _no._

"And who would 'we' be, exactly?"

"I..." _Damn_. He hadn't expected such a direct question, and certainly not now of all times.

"Answer me truthfully, Freywinn." Was it just a fancy, or had her tone become oddly pleading all of a sudden?

"I meant you..." Freywinn swallowed thickly. "...And me."

The words hung in the air for what seemed like eternity and a day. Then, finally, Sarannis got up and walked away without a word, leaving a very anguished Freywinn behind.

**3.**

There wasn't much to do around the Black Temple when Illidan was in a foul mood. The couriers that usually milled to and from his lair knew better than to intrude upon their master at such a time, and officers rarely took it upon them to act without his consent. It was hard to do something right while pretending to do nothing at all, in case Illidan decided to punish someone for a task done wrong, or late, or not done at all.

Vaala had thought to rest in the gardens on the outer promenade, but others had clearly had the same idea. They sat or stood in small groups, talking quietly among themselves. Most kept a respectful distance away. News traveled fast around the Black Temple sometimes, and nobody wanted to get in a scuffle with Illidan's latest trainee. For once, however, Vaala was content with being left alone. This gave her time to think. The Dragonmaw had been struck with deadly precision, which meant that whoever had done it had ample knowledge of their defenses. The Scryers were the most likely offenders. Their outpost was close enough for a surgical strike, and their information had the highest chances of being accurate and up-to-date. And still, intelligence aside, they most clearly lacked in numbers and, unlike the Aldor, they rarely employed mercenaries of other races. The dwarves and orcs were probably too busy squabbling with each other, and the Aldor had other issues to keep them occupied. All things considered, it was probably best to wait for Ferug's report, for all the good it would or wouldn't do.

Suddenly, a conversation happening a few paces to her right caught Vaala's attention. She observed the two speakers, careful not to be noticed in turns: a young man in dazzling crimson robes, and an older centurion with an impressive two-handed sword slung across his back. Their features resembled each other enough for Vaala to assume that they were related somehow.

"They're becoming easier to summon, but far more difficult to control," the younger one was saying. "This shouldn't happen. I'm certain we're doing everything right, and the fel crystals should amplify our strength enough to keep them in check, but..." He shook his head wish a sigh. "Something isn't right. I'm almost tempted to forget this business and assign myself to a less dangerous task."

"If you think that's bad, try stepping outside the temple walls for a spell," the centurion said gruffly. "I can assure you there are far worse things lurking out there than you and your warlocks could even dream of. Those 'raiders' are getting out of hand. Twice now they've struck against our forces on the outer terrace, and twice they've had us on the run. At least your demons are on our side... right?" The last word was all but whispered.

"Maybe they are... but what if they aren't? I'm not certain that Lord Illidan is wise when-"

"Ah, but surely lord Illidan would intervene if things got out of hand," the centurion cut in, a little louder than necessary, and he glanced around meaningfully.

Vaala caught his gaze and held it for a few seconds, then stood up and walked pointedly away. Other conversations stopped briefly as she passed by. The markings she'd received were apparent to other blood elves even when covered by several layers of armor, as the steady pulse of fel energy emanating from the etchings was readily apparent to the finely-tuned senses of the sin'dorei. They knew better now than to let any dissension show around her.

As her steps carried her away from the gardens and towards the lower levels, Vaala couldn't help but wonder what would happen next. Her training was progressing rather slowly, for now. She could command a number of spells – most of them rather clumsily – and her body was getting accustomed to sparring with such a powerful opponent. She was becoming stronger, faster... and it wouldn't be long now before Illidan decided it was time for her to move on to the next stage.

Vaala dreaded that day.

Demon hunters, she knew, would ritually blind themselves early in their training to acquire a different kind of sight. Vaala had never been able to learn exactly what manner of 'seeing' this would be, but she very much doubted it would be worth the sacrifice.

Illidan wouldn't take no for an answer, however. There would have to be a very good reason for him to even consider her opposing of the idea. Vaala could think of many reasons, but Illidan was just as likely to dismiss any of those and press his agenda nonetheless. Damn, damn, _damn_ it all to the Nether.

Vaala finished descending a long flight of stairs and her thoughts came to an abrupt stop as she realized where she was. The courtyard she'd found her way to looked hauntingly familiar... yes, she remembered now: a small space, walled on all sides... and sure enough, there was the dried-up water well, and the Ashtongue elder she'd met on her first day here, sitting atop his rock. "Ah," she said. "Hello."

The Ashtongue didn't reply at first. He studied her closely, his eyes still and unnerving, then shook his head slowly from side to side. "You bear his mark now, I see... You trade your loyalty for power, then?"

Vaala had no reply at first. "My loyalties are none of your concern," she said after a few moments.

"No, but _you_ are concerned, are you not? Yes... I can see it in you now... The taint, his taint, that which will poison your soul if you do not take heed. Or maybe it is already too late for you..."

"It is _not_ too late for me!" Vaala snapped. The conversation was beginning to unnerve her.

The Ashtongue shrugged his massive shoulders once. "Who knows?" he said, turning to stare down an imaginary point somewhere above the far wall. "Who knows...?"

Vaala very much wanted to shout back, '_I_ do!' And still... if she were completely honest with herself... she knew that she was hardly in control of her own life anymore. In that respect, she thought grimly as she all but ran back up the stairs and away from the raving man, maybe it _was_ too late for her after all.

**4.**

Sarannis had fully intended to tell Freywinn off there and then... but, in the end, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Even more frustrating was the fact that she could hardly understand _why_. After Shattrath, there would be no more 'we'. If they were lucky enough to be allowed entrance in the city, it would be far more prudent to go their separate ways and hope they wouldn't catch any unwanted attention from the Scryers and the Naaru and who knew _what_ else. But maybe they could get away with banding together, at least-

Sarannis brought her thoughts to a complete halt with an effort, then backtracked slowly. Was she truly considering this? Turning away from an allegiance that barely held any meaning to all those involved... yes, it _did_ seem like the logical thing to do. She picked up a small rock and threw it into the lake, then watched the ripples thoughtfully. What else was there to do? As someone who had been a soldier for most of her life, she could hardly fathom herself doing something else.

The ripples were growing larger. Vague shapes were swarming underneath the shimmering surface, too fast for her to discern. Maybe sticking together with Freywinn wasn't such a bad idea after all... if he could be cured of his silly affections, that is. He would probably confess to her at some point, and then she would have no choice but to turn him down. At least he was trustworthy, and he kept his head on his shoulders most of the time. And he wasn't that bad to look at, either, even though he didn't waste his time with useless pampering. That, at least, was a good thing. A lot of blood elves seemed to dearly miss a bathing and an appropriate hair rinse. It was ridiculous, really.

The ripples were still growing. There was something odd about them. Sarannis leaned in and looked closer.

From somewhere below the surface, a pair of glowing amber eyes looked back.

**5.**

There was no trace of Ferug when Vaala returned to the Dragonmaw stronghold. Instead, she was met by an even bigger orc who introduced himself as Overseer Bor and informed her that he was taking command. Vaala had no qualms with that. After all, Dragonmaw business was best left to the Dragonmaw, and it hardly made any difference whether it was Bor or Ferug or someone else who would end up taking the blame for their earlier defeat.

Several funeral pyres had already been raised just outside the fortress and were waiting to send off their charges to the afterlife. The bodies of the dead had been taken somewhere out of sight, presumably to be prepared for their send-off. Even the gap in the outer wall had been patched with boulders and sturdy-looking tree trunks and was now guarded by a band of orcs who looked imposing even for the Dragonmaw. All of this had been done in the span of a few hours.

Vaala had no choice but to commend Bor for his diligence, which greatly pleased the new overseer. "Any word on the attackers?" she asked afterward.

Bor had an answer for that, too. "Many of them were bull-like creatures walking on their hind legs," he said. "A few looked a little like your people, but of a different color. Some had tusks." He paused a little. "There were no orcs."

Tauren and trolls, then. It looked like the Horde may have been involved in this. "What were they after? Do you know?"

Bor considered this. "They killed all the drakes they could find and freed the female Zuluhed kept for breeding. Of course, I sent trackers out there to find her," he added quickly. "And we will try to capture more drakes in the meantime. You can assure lord Illidan that our operations will continue despite this-" his expression hardened at the word "- defeat.

So, this was how things were. The Horde had somehow seen fit to attack their Dragonmaw and had done as much damage as they thought appropriate before withdrawing just as quick;y. They must have had some sort of inside information, but Vaala doubted any of the fel orcs would have betrayed their master. Something else was at play here. "See to it that they do," she said with a sigh. "And be on your guard. They might try to strike again."

Bor thumped his chest in a salute.

**6.**

Sarannis got to her feet slowly, her eyes never leaving those of the aquatic creature. She watched it rise from the waters, until its shape became apparent. It was a Naga woman with a long, fiery crest and blue-green scales covering its upper body. Two long, thin arms were crossed; the other two held a long trident with wicked-sharp edges.

"Why do you disssturb us, sssurface dweller?" the Naga hissed. "Sssuch a good hunt... and then _sssomeone_ hasss to go and throw a rock."

The Naga didn't look like she was about to attack, but Sarannis felt a strong urge to back away nonetheless. She had never cared much for Illidan's serpentine allies, despite their claim to have descended from the Highborne, same as Sarannis' own race. "I'm sorry," she said levelly. "I didn't know you were down there."

"No... no, you did not... Not many know of usss now...not sssince the death of Lady Vasj. They thought usss all gone, but we endure... we endure..." Suddenly, the Naga tilted her head to look past Sarannis, to where the lights of the camp were flickering in the night. "What's thisss?" she asked with a hint of irritation. "More of you?"

Before Sarannis could reply, there were more ripples in the water and another Naga surfaced. This one was clearly male. It was much larger and heavily-built, with scales of the same blue-green color. He glared at Sarannis for a few moments, then said something to the other in their own tongue. They argued for a little while, then, with one last glance towards Sarannis, the male submerged.

"Your people are fissshing in our lake!" the woman wailed.

Despite her better judgment, Sarannis huffed. "_Your_ lake?"

"Yesss! We have claimed this lake in the name of our queen Azshara and for Her glory, and you mussst leave at once!"

Sarannis reached for her sword, but didn't draw it just yet. "We have no quarrel with your kind."

"Other than ssstealing our food and throwing rocksss at our headsss, you mean?"

Sarannis decided to ignore this. "I doubt you can fight off all of us," she said instead.

Now, it was the Naga's turn to glare. "There are many of usss, too..."

"There is no need for bloodshed, though. If you can suffer our presence a little longer, we will be gone at dawn and you will never hear from us again."

There was a long silence. Sarannis' fingers brushed the hilt of her sword. She didn't like the idea of fighting there and then, but if she were to defend herself, she wouldn't go down quietly. And then, the camp was close enough to call for aid if more of the creatures surfaced.

"I will presssent your requessst to our High Priessstesss," the Naga said with obvious reluctance after a while. "It will be done as ssshe commandsss... But no more fissshing. And no more rocksss."

"I will recall my men," Sarannis promised.

The Naga swam away, then submerged and disappeared. Sarannis started to walk back towards the camp, shaking her head and trying to remember what she'd been thinking about before this strange encounter.

Ah, yes. Freywinn.

They would stay in Shattrath for a while, then, and see how things would play out from there on. Rumors had it that there was always need for mercenaries of various trades. Perhaps they could get by that way until something better came up... _if_ such a thing would ever happen.

The camp was abuzz with conversations and laughter, and there was a strong scent of grilled fish in the air. The overall mood had changed dramatically over the course of the last few days, Sarannis reflected as she let her legs carry her towards her tent. There was fresh water and an abundance of exotic foods, but more importantly, the prospect of their long journey finally coming to an end seemed to have given many of the refugees a new kind of hope.

Sarannis caught the eye of one of her Bloodwarders and gave him a curt nod. The saluted and those around him – former engineers, by the look of them – did the same. One of them beckoned for her to come and join. She thought about it for a few moments, then, seeing no reason against it, went and stood by their fire. They shuffled politely to make room for her. The Bloodwarder handed her a piece of white meat on a crudely-sharpened stick.

Sarannis eyed the morsel curiously. She'd had nothing but dried strider meat for several days now. "What's this?" she asked.

The Bloodwarder grinned at her. "Fish," he said. "I caught it and cooked it myself."

Sarannis took a bite and found that it didn't taste _too_ bad. Around her, the conversation resumed. There was talk of fishing, and cooking, and whether or not the phosphorescent eels that were present in abundance here tasted like a certain kind of eel from back in Quel'thalas. Sarannis leaned back and listened. She had no interest in the topic, but this was almost relaxing in a way. It reminded her of the days of old, of the comradeship she'd felt when she'd first enrolled in the army of Silvermoon, many years before the Scourge invasion had changed everything. She smiled to herself, then laughed outright when someone said something hilarious about a different use for a particular kind of fishing lure.

Maybe things weren't so bad in the end. And maybe – just maybe – everything was going to work out, after all.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note:**_

_This chapter wraps up one of the two main storylines, and I can also with some certainty that this is just about as much (implied) romance as I'm going to be writing for now. There will be a slight delay with the next chapter while I catch up on some Lore and sort out my drafts. Separating in-game mechanics and Lore is trickier than I thought... (Re-written as of 4/28)  
_

**1.**

It was late evening when the first trees of Terrokar Forest began to show in the distance. The path was wider here, and well-traveled by the looks of it. Sarannis decided to stop and make camp for the night rather than push to reach Shattrath before dawn. Their arrival was sure to draw attention either way, but maybe some at least could mingle with the crowd that went to and from the great city during the day.

Andurien had already gone before that, taking a few others with him as well. His parting words had been brief. Among other things, however, he'd assured Sarannis that herself and Freywinn would be untroubled by any Scryer scrutiny if they kept out of the way.

More blood elves left the camp throughout the night. Some headed for Shattrath, others began the long and arduous trek towards Hellfire Peninsula and the Dark Portal. Many stopped to pay their respects to Sarannis and Freywinn. It was truly as the botanist had claimed; they knew they'd made it thus far owing largely to their leadership, and they were keen to offer their thanks. By daybreak, only a dozen people or so were left at the camp, and almost all of them were Bloodwarders. There was also an elderly magister who wouldn't stop talking about the feats he'd accomplished, and another woman whose trade was nothing short of a mystery to all.

They ate the first meal of the day in silence, save for the occasional whispered request for a certain kind of spice or seasoning. Everyone seemed to have a lot to think about. Once that was done, it was Freywinn that finally asked the question on everybody's minds. "So," he began, leaning back with a smug expression and crossing his arms, "where do we go from here?"

Sarannis saw everyone present turn towards her, their expressions eager and expectant. They looked to her for guidance still... only this time, she feared that she had none left to offer. She combed a hand through her hair as she chose her words. "It would seem that our journey together is nearly at an end," she said. "From here on out, everybody is free to do as they please. If we stay together, there is a high risk of-"

"I move we all meet at the World's End Tavern tonight," one of the Bloodwarders interrupted. He gave an apologetic nod, then continued, "We'll have a feast – a _real _feast – then drink until there's nothing but pink elekks everywhere, _then _drink some more after that." He smiled wistfully, "Just like the good old days."

Sarannis glared at him. "Dal'roth Gladewhisper! That's... not a bad idea, actually." She eased her expression into an almost maternal smile. "Yes... yes, I'd say we all deserve that much, at least." She paused a little, frowning in thought. "If we put all of our gold together, we should be able to eat and drink _and_ find a place to rest for the night..."

There was an awkward silence as the others looked at each other with shrugs and shuffling of feet and mutters of 'Gold? What gold?'

"We could trade some of our things," Freywinn said hopefully. "I, for one, won't be needing my hawkstrider after today, and I still have some rare ointments that would fetch us a nice price."

"I have some Bloodthistle," another Bloodwarder offered shyly. This earned him more than a few arched eyebrows and glares.

And then, everyone was turning their satchels inside-out in search for coins or things to vendor. Sarannis surveyed the group with a touch of pride. Dal'roth Gladewhisper had already managed to give them something to look forward to, and after the feast, the drinking and a good night's rest, she guessed that things would present themselves in a different light altogether. _Action_, she thought, amused. It was a different kind of action than the one they'd occupied themselves with in the past weeks, but if this was what it took to keep everyone focused and upbeat, then so be it.

**2.**

The Lower City was already bustling with activity despite the early hour. People of all races crowded the narrow streets and merchants peddled their goods, all under the watchful eye of peacekeepers sitting atop their elekk mounts. There was always trouble in this part of Shattrath, but most of it went on in narrow alleys or behind drawn shutters and closed doors. Still, the presence of the peacekeepers was a testament to how much the city had changed since its rebuilding under the guidance of the Naaru. Where once thugs and bandits reigned in the slums, travelers could now walk freely among the denizens and not fear for their lives or their possessions.

Andurien walked the streets at a brisk pace. His tattered robes and disheveled hair turned a few heads, but Shattrath was home to many sorts of adventurers and curiosity was a trait that could shorten one's lifespan considerably. The only person who approached the priest was a troll merchant by the name of Griftah. Andurien had spoken with a few times, and he knew that Griftah specialized in useless trinkets and - if the stars aligned - very useful information. This time, however, it seemed as though the troll had only the former to offer, so Andurien sent him on his way.

The Terrace of Light in the upper part of Shattrath had changed considerably since the last time Andurien had been here. Much to his surprise, he saw blood elves and draenei training shoulder to shoulder under the command of officers from both races. They all wore similar tabards with a crest he'd never seen before - a winged helm embroidered upon black fabric in gold and azure. Such a sight would have been inconceivable a mere few months ago, when the Scryers had only just begun to settle here and the draenei had voiced their displeasure at having their former enemies live so close through every possible avenue. Puzzled, Andurien walked past them and to the enormous stone lift that lead up to the Scryers' Tier. There were things he was eager to ask, and yet more things he was anxious to share with his superiors. Times were changing indeed.

Up in the Scryers' Tier, Andurien was met at last by a friendly face. He'd known Veynna Dawnstar since the early days of the Second War. She was naturally kind-hearted, and the many years of hardships she'd endured had done little to change that. Now, she came and embraced, not concerned in the least by the filth that covered his robes.

"You have been missed, dear friend," Veynna said when they parted.

Andurien bowed his head in gratitude. "It's been too long, Veynna. Still, I fear that I have little time for pleasantries right now. Where is Voren'thal?"

"He has been asking about your arrival, actually. I believe he's in a meeting right now, but-"

"Good. Show me the way."

Veynna looked him up and down. Guessing her thoughts, Andurien shook his head, "No time."

"Have it your way, then," Veynna said playfully. She took his hand and guided him past a series of small buildings that housed most of the tier's traders and craftsmen, then up a ramp and finally to another dwelling, carved entirely out of enchanted stone and warded by spells as powerful as the blood elves dared to cast within the city walls. Inside was a narrow antechamber, where several guards paced or stood at ease. They barred their way at first, insisting that the Seer was not to be disturbed, but a few words from Veynna were all it took for them to allow Andurien passage into the meeting room beyond.

Voren'thal the Seer was sitting at a large table, surrounded by his most trusted advisers, as Andurien was ushered in. Spymaster Dawnstrike was here along with Lady Liadrin, the matriarch of the Blood Knights. Aside from them, there were three other blood elves and – he blinked once, startled – an Aldor priestess flanked by anchorite attendants on either side. Most of the assembly looked surprised at the interruption, but to their credit, none said anything out loud.

"Welcome," Vor'enthal said pleasantly. "I knew you would return soon. Have a seat."

The priest did so, nodding to the assembly before settling in a finely-decorated armchair. He caught Reevan's eye for a second, but the Spymaster quickly looked away. Andurien frowned a little. There was something on his mind, and it probably had little to do with the meeting at hand. He made a point to himself to ask later.

"What news do you bring, Andurien?" Voren'thal asked after a few moments of startled silence.

The priest smoothed down his robes."The whole business with Tempest Keep is pretty much settled, I'd say. The last of the refugees have reached Terrokar a few hours ago, but I don't think we should expect any more trouble from their part."

"And their commanders?"

"Eager to get on with their lives, from what I've gathered. They will not-"

"Excuse me, but _I_ think they should stand trial for their crimes."

If Andurien was displeased by the interruption, he didn't show it. He turned to the one who'd spoken – a fairly young magistrix whom he'd never seen before – then said, "With all due respect, I do not find that necessary. Remember, we were _all_ pawns of Kael'thas at some point."

"Some for longer than others," the magistrix answered pointedly.

Voren'thal held up a hand, demanding silence. "So long as they give us no trouble, we will leave them be," he proclaimed, much to the magistrix's chagrin. "There are far more pressing matters to be attended right now. As High Priestess Ishanah was saying just before you arrived-" speaking, Voren'thal nodded to the priestess and her escort "-the Aldor have lost their outpost in Shadowmoon Valley. Spymaster Dawnstrike assures me that Illidan will strike at the Sanctum of the Stars next. We must not give him the opportunity."

There were various mutters of agreement from around the table.

"I did not make this decision lightly," Voren'thal continued, "but for the time being, I see no other choice but to side with the Aldor in this affair. At the moment, the bulk of their forces are holding on at the far end of the valley, but they are constantly besieged by the Illidari and their pet demons and may not be able to resist them for much longer. We will help the Aldor reclaim the Altar of Sha'tar, then move on to assault the Black Temple's outer defenses. With a Naaru..."

"Xi'ri," Ishanah said helpfully. "He traveled with some reinforcements to Shadowmoon Valley some days ago."

Voren'thal nodded. "Xi'ri, yes. With Xi'ri and his might to bolster our combined forces, they will be unstoppable. Now that Tempest Keep has fallen and the manaforges in Netherstorm have been destroyed, it is time to put an end to this other menace once and for all. And by the Sun, it will be so."

"It will be so," the others echoed with the utmost conviction, and at that moment Andurien had no doubts that the Black Temple would fall .

The conversation then moved on to the particularities of the upcoming assault. Andurien could safely let his thoughts drift for a while. It felt good to be back in a place where he belonged, though he knew that his respite would be brief. He wasn't a military man himself, but his presence would be required on the battlefield nonetheless. The magisters could wreak havoc with their spells. Andurien had other talents; his own magic could strengthen the spirit of his followers and even heal their wounds when time allowed it.

And then, there was the darker side of his chosen path, one that he'd only just begun to acknowledge. The incident with the gronn came in surprising detail. Getting into its mind - such as it had been - was a success that opened the path for deeper, darker exploits the likes of which only the most skilled spellcasters could ever hope to dream of. Not for the first time, Andurien wondered if he would be able to reach out to other, more complicated minds, and manipulate them from the inside. It was a tantalizing prospect, one that could offer him near-limitless power... and yet, he was reluctant to attempt such a thing a second time, for fear that once taken, this path would offer no return.

The meeting was over before long, and those attending left to see to it that the army would be ready to march out soon. The High Priestess, Ishanah, was the first to leave, followed by Voren'thal – who had allowed her this small courtesy – then Lady Liadrin and the others. Andurien stayed behind after exiting and reached out to tap Reevan on the arm as he walked past.

The Spymaster looked up in mild surprise before recognition settled in. "Ah, Andurien. Good to see you back in one piece."

Andurien didn't miss the weary voice, nor the dark circles under Reevan's eyes and the way he appeared to have aged more than a decade in just a few short weeks. "You look... preoccupied," he said cautiously. "Is something wrong?"

Reevan made an effort to smile, but that didn't work too well. "It's nothing," he said with a half-hearted shrug. "The trip from Shadowmoon Valley was a little more taxing than I'd anticipated. Our dragonhawks were restless most of the way, and so we were forced to-"

"I thought we were past such small lies," Andurien interrupted, his tone gentle in spite of the accusation.

Reevan glared. Andurien held his gaze calmly. They had known each other for many years, but it was the first time the priest was seeing his friend in such a condition. He knew that Reevan didn't take kindly to being scrutinized, and so he waited in silence until the magister spoke again. "Not here, old friend," he said quietly. "These are things I'd rather didn't reach the ears of Voren'thal, or any of the others. Meet me in the gardens after dark... and make sure you aren't followed." With that, he turned and walked away.

Andurien stood there long after Reevan had gone, wondering what could have possibly unsettled him so. Reevan was a man of strict principles and rigorous dedication. He was loyal to Voren'thal and the Scryers above all, and the only times that he could ever find it in him to see matters in shades of gray were those when his sister was concerned. His sister, who had gone missing inside the Black Temple and supposedly hadn't been heard of since.

Or...?

**3.**

Vaala awoke with the distinct impression that something was very, very wrong. She straightened up in her bed, reaching for the dagger she kept concealed under her pillow. A quick glance around the room revealed that she was alone. The door was bolted up as she had left it, and the window on the opposite wall was too small for anything to have come through and warded off for good measure.

The feeling persisted.

Vaala got out of bed slowly, dagger still in hand. A more thorough inspection of the room revealed nothing out of the ordinary. She closed her eyes and reached out with her other senses, finding no recent traces of magic save for the erratic arcane currents that permeated the valley. Those were perhaps a little stronger than usually, but that could have very well been the result of some powerful spell being cast somewhere in the vicinity. The warlocks were said to never truly sleep, and their conjurations were sometimes enough to unsettle the tenuous balance of the place for days on end. She opened her eyes again with a frown. Hardly satisfied, she climbed back into bed and secured the dagger in its hiding place, then pulled the frayed covers around her. That didn't do much good. The chill of the temple seemed to pass through anything.

Going back to sleep was an option that Vaala was quick to dismiss. She hardly felt rested, but she doubted that sleep would do her any good. Her dreams had been strangely troubling as of late, something that hadn't happened to her in a long time. Sometimes, they would present her with a distorted image of a memory. Other times, however, they showed strange places and even stranger creatures that Vaala couldn't have possibly known in her own life. There were pristine forests that would change to barren wastelands in the blink of an eye, and raging seas that would part to reveal entire cities that looked as though they'd been submerged for generations. As for the beings that roamed her dreams, Vaala was certain that they weren't anything native Azeroth. Some looked like demons. Others looked far worse.

_...in the end, they will all betray..._

Vaala bolted upright and looked around in bewilderment. The words had been faint, almost indistinguishable, and for a moment she thought she'd drifted off without realizing and they'd been part of yet another dream. She strained her ears. There was no sound other than the howling winds outside her window. And then...

_...to walk this path alone... of my own making... but is as it should be..._

These were thoughts, Vaala realized with a start, and they were not her own. By now, she knew that the mental link she shared with Illidan worked both ways sometimes, especially when the demon lord was touched by strong emotions. The other day, she'd felt his full wrath as he'd surveyed the destruction at the Dragonmaw stronghold through her eyes. But now, all she could feel was sadness... a kind of sorrow so deep it threatened to drown her own mind as well. This was probably the source of her earlier anxiety as well. Illidan was... grieving? But why?

Touching her locket ever so faintly, Vaala whispered, "My lord...?"

The voice stopped abruptly, and the sadness went away with it. There was silence for a while.

_What do you want?_ came the answer at last, in the same annoyed monotone that Vaala had come to expect whenever her master was disturbed from his supposedly more important tasks.

Vaala thought of an excuse, then let it go with a sigh. "It's... nothing," she replied at length. "I thought you'd called on me, but I must have been dreaming."

_I have no need of you right now. Return to your affairs and leave me be. _

The voice and presence retreated altogether. Vaala waited for a while, then finally let her body fall back with a drawn sigh. It stood to reason that Illidan would never open up to _her_ – not knowingly, anyway. But there was no mistaking what she'd heard and felt. Something was troubling him deeply... and it was something that went beyond the struggle for power that would play out in the coming weeks.

**4.**

They met in the outer gardens of the Scryer's Tier, each coming from a different direction and too lost in their own thoughts to notice the other's presence until they almost collided. Andurien was the first to recover, smiling pleasantly and bowing as the customs of the sin'dorei demanded. Reevan returned the bow, a little more stiffly, as if to show he didn't care much for such displays under current circumstances. They continued their walk in silence, choosing a narrow alley that opened into a small sitting area.

"I trust that what you are about to hear will remain between us," Reevan said at length, keeping his voice low even though there were no other sin'dorei around.

"As always, Reevan." Andurien paused a little. "It's about your sister, isn't it?"

"So you've heard of it as well," the other retorted with barely a hint of surprise.

"Just a rumor, I'm afraid. Spymaster Thalodien couldn't say much other than-"

"Thalodien!" Reevan waved a hand dismissively. "That man is as useless as they ever come. He calls himself a 'spymaster', but all he knows is how to drink in taverns and take credit for the hard work of others. I owe it to him that every goddamn Scryer thinks that I've sent my sister to her own demise."

Andurien put a comforting hand on Reevan's arm. "Knowing you, that couldn't be farther from the truth."

"I knew the risks," Reevan went on with a pained grimace. "She is... she was the best I had. I thought, if anyone could get close to the Illidari leadership and find out what they planned, it would be her. But now I fear that she has fallen prey to Illidan's mind games."

"She switched sides? Even knowing how Illidan deceived our people in the past?" Andurien frowned, remembering the one time he'd met Vaala Dawnstrike. In hindsight, maybe that wasn't too far-fetched after all. If Reevan was a man of strict principles, his sister had left the priest with the distinct impression that she wouldn't hesitate to turn on her allies if she saw any immediate benefits to be had. As a whole, rogues tended to concern themselves with survival and profits rather than what was 'right' or 'wrong'.

Reevan nodded grimly. "For the longest time, I refused to believe what other spies were telling me. And not two days ago, she... she all but told me herself. She claimed that she was the one to goad the Sunfury into attacking the Aldor rather than the Scryers."

"Did you believe that?" Andurien asked gently.

"I don't know what to believe, old friend... That she would feel no loyalty towards the Scryers, I can understand. After all, she did say that 'my' cause was never hers. But then... why side with Illidan when she knows full well that would put me in a position to..." He didn't finish the sentence, but both knew what he had meant to say.

"Maybe she didn't have a choice," Andurien said thoughtfully.

Reevan dismissed this with a gesture. "This is no time to delude myself with wishful thinking. Illidan must have made an offer she couldn't refuse-"

"Such as letting her live? If she was found out, then this was the only path she could have taken. Think about it."

"Then why not escape when I offered her the chance to?" Reevan asked, his hands clenching into fists. "She must be free to do whatever she pleases so long as she doesn't cross her 'master', and once-"

"Be silent," Andurien warned suddenly, and not a moment too soon.

One of High Priestess Ishanah's escorts was approaching them with long, deliberate strides. He stopped before them and bowed, then said, "I would speak with you alone, Spymaster."

The two Scryers exchanged a glance. Andurien raised his eyebrows in a silent question, to which Reevan gave an almost imperceptible nod. "We will continue this conversation another time, then," the priest said lightly. Then, he walked away.

"I thought you alone should hear this," the draenei said after Andurien had gone. "I am called Arakai, and I am an anchorite of the-"

"I can easily find out who you are if need be," Reevan interrupted, making an effort to keep his tone civil. "You'll forgive me if I don't have time for pleasantries, but but I am a busy man. What is it you wish?"

"To the matter at hand, then," Arakai agreed. "I owe my life to your sister, Vaala, and I wish to extend my gratitude to you as well."

This was nothing that Reevan would have expected to hear. "Vaala... saved your _life?_ How? When?"

"It was a number of days ago, before I was asked to return to Shattrath and assist with our negotiations," Arakai began. "My brethren and I had been ambushed by Illidari assassins. I was the only one to live, but my wounds were grievous and the Light would not answer my call..."

As the draenei's tale unfolded, Reevan could do little but listen and wonder whether his ears deceived him. As far as he knew, Vaala was hardly one to go out of her way to assist a stranger, and even less so an enemy. And yet, the way the anchorite described her looks and mannerisms left little room for doubt.

"Though she and I were enemies, she kept me alive long enough for others to find me and carry me to safety," Arakai said at the end with unconcealed gratitude. "When they arrived, she vanished like the mists at dawn. Though we never saw her again, from that day forward, we called her the Shadow of Shadowmoon."

"'The Shadow of Shadowmoon'," Reevan repeated blankly. It sounded like something Vaala would dismiss as being too pompous for one who hoped to avoid any kind of notoriety.

"Has she returned with you, also?" Arakai asked, peering around as though he half expected Vaala to step from the shadows and greet them both.

Reevan shook his head, wondering just how much the draenei truly knew about his sister's allegiance. "She remained in Shadowmoon Valley to... to take care of her own affairs. Sadly, I cannot enlighten you as to what those might be."

"I see," Arakai said with a touch of disappointment. "Should you speak with her again, do let her know that her kindness is not forgotten."

"I will," Reevan said even as he wondered whether his next encounter with Vaala would leave room for any words before swords were drawn and battle would inevitably ensue. Blood ties meant nothing in the greater scheme of things, and siblings though they were, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't be forced to face off against each other. And then...

Reevan turned his thoughts away from what the outcome of such a battle might have been. There was still time before he would be called back to the valley, and maybe... yes, maybe he could think of another way.

**5.**

As always, the World's End Tavern was filled with an exotic crowd. Mercenaries, adventurers, thieves, beggars and socialites of all races were cluttered around the large tables. Conversations were being carried in a dozen different languages at once, and voices rose and fell like the tides over the clinking of glasses and the shouts of drunken patrons and would-be damsels-in-distress.

"Here's to a new beginning for us all," Lorash Sunshatter yelled, standing up and raising his mug high above his head.

"Hear here!" everyone else around the table, even the ever-stern Sarannis and the usually gloomy Freywinn, chimed together.

They clanked their mugs, then drank deeply. Every Bloodwarder was there, along with the now former leaders of their band and the elderly magister who'd stayed with them even after reaching the city. In the end, their gold had proven enough to find lodgings not for a night, but for a week at least. Everyone was hopeful that they would find something to do before their coin ran out. Indeed, life seemed a lot more pleasant after a long bath, a proper meal, and now a mug of rich and tasty ale.

"You know," said the magister after the cheering died down a little, "I hadn't expected us to make it this far. I kept thinking we'd be jumped by thieves or brigands or demons or whatever else was out there. For once, I'm glad to know I wasn't right." He tried to salute like a Bloodwarder, which drew fresh gales of laughter from most of those present. After a moment, he joined in, but not before muttering, "Well, that went _wrong_."

From across the table, Sarannis arched an eyebrow at the man. She tried to remember his name, but her mind was already enshrouded in a pleasant haze. "Oh, _you_," was all that she could say before inexplicably bursting into laughter like the rest. Was she drunk? Well, damn it all to the Nether, she _deserved _to be drunk after everything she'd – no, after everything _they'd_ gone through, the still-sober part of her mind cut in.

At some point, Sarannis discovered with mild amusement that Freywinn had slipped one hand around her shoulders and held her much closer than she would have allowed had she been fully in command of her senses. Her customary armor wouldn't have allowed such familiarity, but now that they were in Shattrath, they had agreed to wear less inconspicuous clothing. She'd chosen a simple leather tunic with matching trousers and boots and no gloves or shoulderguards, and she hadn't even bothered to tie her hair after the bath, something that Freywinn had been quick to compliment her on. It was impractical, yes, but at the moment she didn't mind. Come to think of it, she didn't mind him _at all_.

Sarannis shook her head. What was she _thinking? _"I'm stepping outside for a moment," she announced loudly. "_Alone_, Freywinn. I'll be back soon."

The botanist sighed a little, but his mischievous grin remained firmly in place otherwise. Sarannis stood up and weaved her way through the crowded tavern and out in the cold night air. It was far quieter outside, save for a band of gnomes who were arguing over what looked like a mechanical chicken. She overheard the words 'explosion' and 'perfectly safe' being said several times. "Gnomes..." she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Hah!"

"Good evening, Commander."

Sarannis blinked. The greeting had come from directly in front of her, but there wasn't any – ah, _there_ he was. She remembered the voice from that night up in the Blade's Edge Mountains, and now she saw that it belonged to a fairly young-looking magister wearing nondescript robes and an absolutely ordinary-looking staff. There was a crackle of barely-contained power all around him, but only those attuned to the flows of the arcane could ever hope to perceive it, and he probably _wanted _them to. As was to be expected, after all.

"Good evening, Archmage," Sarannis said with a mock curtsy. "I take it your watch is at an end?"

The Archmage nodded. "And what a watch it was, too," he said, then whistled. "Do you know you almost got felled by demons not once, but _twice?_"

"Demons? We never saw any-" Sarannis began before her mind caught up with the words. "Oh. Well, thank-"

"They weren't _that_ much trouble, come to think of it," the Archmage said with a shrug. "Nonetheless, I do believe I am entitled for you to buy me a drink."

Sarannis frowned. There was something bothering her, and she spent some time trying to figure out what it was. Then it dawned on her. "You told me you were 'charged' to keep an eye on us, Archmage. By who? And for what purpose?"

The Archmage shrugged again. "Someone who feels the need to bring what's left of our race together, and rightfully so. Someone who knows someone who can make this happen, given time."

"You're not even making any sense," Sarannis said grudgingly. "Speak straight, or-"

"I've already told you everything you need to know," the Archmage cut in with a patient smile. "Now, about that drink...?"

How positively _infuriating_, Sarannis thought even as she followed the Archmage back into the tavern, introduced him to the others, and finally bought him his damn drink.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**

_...And on a more serious note, thus begins the second part of 'Shadow of Shadowmoon'. There will be many exciting things happening in the next chapters, so stay tuned! (Re-written as of 4/28)  
_

**1.**

The Illidari council had met again in secrecy. They were all gathered, even Gathios, who had been mysteriously recalled from the Altar of Sha'tar on the day before. This time, they had chosen a former room of prayer in one of the lower tiers, with thick columns supporting a vaulted ceiling high overhead and crumbled benches littering the cracked marble floor. This place was well away from any prying eyes, or so the Council hoped. Leaving the relative comfort and safety of the upper tier was something that none of the four were glad to do, not unless dire circumstances demanded it.

As it were, even with the one questionable victory against the Aldor, the omens did not bode well.

"This is madness," the Sunfury general uttered, and everything about his manner suggested that he had been dogged by the bitter spectre of defeat since long before this meeting. "Now would be the time to move forward, not back! What was the point of overtaking the Aldor fortifications if we are to do nothing with them?"

"Did you receive any orders at all since your return?" High Nethermancer Zerevor questioned.

Gathios shrugged, and even the simple gesture seemed like too much of an effort. "Orders? None at all. In fact, I haven't seen our master since he ordered the attack on the draenei. I sought him out earlier today, and I was turned away." He flared suddenly. "Turned away! _Me! _Illidan will be the doom of us all..."

"You shouldn't speak like that," Lady Malande whispered urgently. "Not here-"

"And why not? You know it to be true! Illidan doesn't know _or _care about anything that's going on outside this miserable place! He expects the enemy to simply lay down their weapons and submit to his rule! This is no way to fight a war, let alone win it!"

"Perhaps it is time to take matters into our own hands, then," Zerevor said thoughtfully. "We have waited far too long as it is."

"I say we leave while we still can."

It was the first time in weeks that Veras Darkshadow had spoken during a meeting of the Council. Silence descended, broken only by a faint rumble as the ground underneath the temple shifted and cracked.

"You're proposing we leave this place," Zerevor said slowly. The fact that neither he nor the others had thought of a rebuttal yet spoke volumes about how they all felt about such a prospect. They were all but trapped inside this place, with the enemy encroaching from all sides. The situation was more dire than any of them would care to admit, but that didn't change the fact that they all _knew. _

Then Gathios slammed his fist against the column he was leaning against, and the moment passed. "We are not cowards! We will stand and fight!"

"Rats always desert a sinking ship, Gathios," Veras said coldly, "and I would very much advise that we do the same."

"We are not rats!"

Veras regarded him impassively. "Then the ship will sink _with_ us, and we'll all be dead," he said, and then he turned and walked away without any of the others doing anything to stop him. His words still hung in the air long after he'd gone.

"We shouldn't be fighting among ourselves," Malande said quietly. She looked from Gathios to Zerevor. "Not now. _Especially _not now."

"You're right, of course," Zerevor said quickly. "We must _act_."

"Where shall we strike, then?" Gathios inquired, the sudden change in the conversation seeming to finally spark some interest. "I can have my soldiers march out the gates within the hour-"

"No..." Zerevor rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "Illidan still thinks that we will not move without his command, and he must continue to believe so. We must be cautious..." The nethermancer sighed, glancing towards the passage Veras had disappeared through. "We _all _know what must be done. All that remains, then, is simply a matter of 'when' rather than 'where'. We will strike at the Scryers and overtake their outpost, then present our master with a victory that couldn't possibly displease him."

"It is decided!" Gathios boomed, drawing up to his full height. "I will prepare my men... _discreetly_, of course, so as to raise no suspicion," he added when Zerevor frowned. "Our enemies will fall before our might!"

"Our enemies will fall," Malande and Zerevor echoed solemnly.

"As it should be," Gathios concluded with unbridled satisfaction.

The meeting was at an end. The three remaining members of the Council departed together, and it wasn't long before the echo of their footsteps died down and the chamber grew silent. Then, finally, a silhouette stepped away from one of the columns. An unknowing observer might have believed that the figure had come directly out of the stone, but this was merely an illusion. The shadow cast by the column had provided the lone spy with the perfect hiding place. The Council hadn't known that they were being watched.

Vaala cast a quick glance around the chamber, then, with a flick of her hand, she dropped the shadowy disguise. She stretched her arms, hearing her bones crack after having stood still for so long, and sighed out loud. Illidan's mind had barely touched her own after that one night, and she doubted that he'd been watching the meeting unfold. Still... it didn't hurt to make sure. She touched her pedant and called out, "My lord...?"

When no answer came, Vaala turned back to the shadows and left the chamber as well. Maybe things were better this way, at least for now. When he did learn of the Council's intentions, Illidan would not be pleased. That, at least, she was certain of.

**2.**

Veras Darkshadow had never felt so helpless in his entire life.

Gathios was right to believe that Illidan didn't fight war the way it was meant to be fought. Illidan was nothing short of a whirlwind of absolute destruction that could bring down anything in its path once unleashed, but he wasn't much of a strategist beyond that. His orders were erratic and often contradicted each other. He was quick to punish failure and very rarely took advice that could have lead to success. Even the Council, who were supposedly his most trusted advisers, had found themselves shunned increasingly more often as of late.

And all the while, the enemy was getting in position for a devastating assault. Veras had a network of spies that reached all the way to Shattrath and the high-ranking officers there. He knew all about the gathering armies of the Scryers and Aldor, for all the good that knowledge did him. He also suspected that the Sunfury had more than a handful of traitorous spies in their midst, and Illidan did nothing to expose them. Worse even, by all accounts, he'd taken one of them under his wing, both literally and metaphorically.

Vaala Dawnstrike... The name brought a sneer to Veras' lips. He'd known her brother well enough once – a stubborn, arrogant man with seeming limitless ambitions. Sending his own sister behind enemy lines in hopes of her opening up an avenue to an unlikely victory... how very typical of Reevan. And Vaala was probably just as bad. In fact, if only Illidan knew...

Veras grinned at the thought. If _only _Illidan knew that his would-be champion was, in fact, a spy... then he would dispose of her quickly, and then reward the one who had uncovered her presence. The demon lord had once claimed that Vaala would serve him unquestioningly, but whatever lies had made him believe that would fold like a castle of cards once they came under closer scrutiny. His resolve made, Veras all but broke into a run towards the upper tier. He climbed the stone steps two at a time, his heart pounding with both effort and the excitement of knowing that he could single-handedly change the course of the war. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Exposing a spy, and such a highly-placed one at that, would give him enough leverage to bring up the other things he knew. Surely, Illidan would see reason at last! If he but allowed Veras to present his evidence...

Veras slowed down, frowning. Illidan was just as likely to send him on his way before he'd ever had a chance to voice his suspicions. In fact, even gaining an audience would be a long and arduous process, if Gathios's dismissal was anything to go by. Illidan was growing even more reclusive, and even harder to please. He would need a certainty...

"Of course!" Veras burst out loud, not caring that he might have been overheard. Rather than go to Illidan, it was infinitely better to confront the problem at the source. How gloriously simple it all appeared now that he knew what he had to do!

Vaala had her own chambers in the upper tier, and Veras knew exactly where they were. By the time he reached her doorstep, he was already certain that things would work out in his favor. Getting her to admit her duplicity would earn him Illidan's trust, and things would be much simpler from there on out. The war would be won swiftly and decisively, and Veras would be hailed as a true hero, for a change, and there would be no need for a Council anymore. And then one day, when Illidan grew careless and lowered his guard enough to-

The door was locked.

Veras took a step back and crossed his arms with a swear. This was just a temporary setback. Sooner or later, she would have to return. He had all the time in the world. He delighted in visions of what he would do on that faithful day that all of Outland would finally be his. After all, no ambition was too big, and those who thought otherwise were simply too afraid to embrace their true potential.

Veras didn't have to wait long at all. Barely a minute had gone by when he heard the sound of footsteps, and he turned just in time to see Vaala round a corner and come face to face with him.

"Do you need something?" Vaala asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Veras quickly analyzed the situation. There were several paces between them, which meant he would have ample warning of any attack. She looked slightly annoyed, but she couldn't have possibly been suspecting his intentions. And – he had to keep himself from laughing out loud at the discovery – she appeared to be unarmed. This would end quickly indeed.

"I know who you are," Veras said, and reached for the daggers he carried with him at all times.

Much to his chagrin, Vaala merely raised her eyebrows a little and said, "What of it?"

Veras's smirk faded a little. This wasn't how he had envisioned things. "You may have fooled the others, but I saw right through your flimsy disguise," he went on regardless. "You are a traitor and a spy, and I will personally deliver your head to lord Illidan once you've told me everything I want to know!"

Vaala shrugged a shoulder lazily. She didn't seem at all concerned with what was happening. Such _arrogance! _Veras felt his blood boil. He took a deep breath, bringing his fury under control, harnessing it for when it would be needed, and then he stepped through the shadows and disappeared.

Vaala made no attempt to flee or draw any weapons she may have kept concealed. Not that it mattered either way. Veras readied his daggers and charged, then struck with all his might. When his blades slashed through a suddenly empty space he all but cursed out loud. How in damnation had she moved so _fast?_

A small noise from behind was barely enough warning for Veras to step to the side and dodge an incoming blow. He wasted no time in bringing one of his daggers around, and he was gratified with contact and a sharp intake of breath. Vaala staggered backwards, clutching at her arm, and Veras saw that blood trickled through her fingers. A small dagger fell to the floor with a clatter. Veras pressed the attack before she could retrieve it, intent on finishing things quickly now.

Vaala evaded him easily at first, backing up with every strike she dodged, but even so it wasn't long before he managed to land another blow, and then another. The wounds were small and would have only been a minor nuisance but for the poison that coated both of Veras's weapons. It was potent enough to numb the flesh and slow down any opponent and, given time, it was also potent enough to kill.

Vaala's strength was sapped. Her right arm, the one Veras had slashed at first, was already hanging limply at her side, useless. A strong kick to her midsection sent her crashing against the stone wall and she barely moved from where she'd fallen. Veras closed the space between them, his heart throbbing with excitement. This had been _too_ easy! Her death would come soon, and maybe he would even toy with her a little before dealing the finishing blow. But first, he would have her confess _everything_.

**3.**

Vaala hadn't expected any of this. She'd known that Veras had his suspicions for a while now, but she'd never thought him daft enough to act on them. Underestimating him had been her first mistake. Worse even, Veras had managed to catch her all but unarmed, which was another, far more grave mistake. And finally, Vaala had foolishly engaged him in combat even though common sense would have dictated that she flee. A third mistake. She was furious, more at herself than at her aggressor. She wasn't worthy of calling herself anything but a clumsy, careless spy who'd fallen all to easily into this trap. Her wounds stung, but her pride truly _hurt_.

Veras was talking now, asking questions by the sound of it. His tone was pompous and self-assured, as though he'd just won a great victory. Vaala ignored him and closed her eyes, shaking her head a few times in a useless attempt to clear it. Whatever poisons he'd used were starting to take their toll. _Focus_, she remembered. Magic was all around her, just waiting to be harnessed and used. Focus was key.

Veras leaned over her with a sickening grin. "You _will_ talk," he said evenly. "I will make sure of-"

Vaala didn't wait to hear the end of what would probably be yet another empty threat. Her eyes snapped open and fixed themselves on Veras im as a barrier of fel fire sprung to life between them, so quickly it took him entirely by surprise. Veras staggered back with a loud shriek, but not before the flames seared his flesh. Vaala smirked. _There. _Let _him_ writhe in pain, for a change. She jumped to her feet, doing her best to ignore the vertigo that the sudden motion brought up. Her concentration was already threatening to wane, but in the meantime, she poured every bit of strength she had into creating as impressive a display as she could manage.

Veras didn't approach her again and, if his expression was anything to go by, the retaliation had all but toppled whatever plans he had in mind. "You cannot defeat me!" he shouted, but his voice didn't sound nearly as confident as before.

"I don't have to, you idiot," Vaala hissed back. "We're both on the same side!"

Veras took another step back. "Lies!"

Vaala blinked a few times in rapid succession. "What could you _possibly_ have to gain by attacking me?" Speaking, she edged closer to him, and she had the satisfaction to see him flinch.

Veras readied his daggers again. "Weren't you_ listening?_" he yelled. "I _know_ who you are, and by the Nether, I will make lord Illidan see-"

"_Stand down!_"

The words resounded across the corridor, their echo carrying past the stunned combatants and into other parts of the temple. For a few long moments, the air surged with raw magic, so powerful it made both Veras and Vaala shrink away from its origin and reel as though they'd been struck. When their senses returned, both saw that Illidan had appeared between them, warglaives drawn.

"What is the meaning of this?" Illidan demanded, his gaze traveling from one combatant to the other and his displeasure so strong it was almost tangible.

Inwardly, Vaala thought, '_Took you long enough._'

Veras was the first to recover. He stood to attention, wincing a little from his injuries. His voice was laced with malice when he spoke, "Lord Illidan, I have conclusive evidence that this woman is a traitor and a spy. Her brother is-"

"I know full well who and _what _she is."

Veras gasped. "Then why haven't you-"

Suddenly, Illidan was standing directly in front of Veras, his warglaives inches away from the startled rogue's throat. "First you attack my chosen, and then you dare question _me? _I know you and the others have been plotting behind my back for a while, but this... _this_ is an insult that I will not let slide."

Veras swallowed thickly, his earlier confidence replaced by dread. "I – I meant no disrespect," he stammered. "I merely sought to-"

"_Silence!_"

"My lord," Vaala said softly, approaching him. She put a hand on his arm and didn't look at all concerned when Illidan turned to regard her with a scowl. "This is probably just a misunderstanding," she went on. "I'm sure Veras had nothing but the best interests of the Illidari at heart."

"You ask that I spare him?" Illidan asked, startled.

"Yes."

A few seconds trickled by. To Veras, each seemed longer than eternity. Then, finally, Illidan pulled back his warglaive just enough to allow him to crawl away and said, "Begone."

Veras didn't need to be told twice. He didn't bother to salute or bow. Instead, he turned and fled as fast as his legs could carry him, and let the shadows close behind him and conceal his presence for good measure in case the demon lord would change his mind.

"Explain yourself," Illidan demanded when Veras had gone.

The only answer he received was the soft thud of a body falling to the ground.

**4.**

As he watched the Scryer army depart from Shattrath, Reevan Dawnstrike felt a great sense of pride. There was nothing in this world that could withstand such a force. Their might, combined with that of the Aldor who traveled ahead and the Naaru that accompanied them, was enough to face any threat, overcome any obstacle, and emerge victorious in the end. The Black Temple _would _fall. Reevan believed this with all his heart.

Reevan himself was also ready to return to Shadowmoon Valley. Rather than travel with the rest of the army, he'd chosen to fly there on the back of a much swifter dragonhawk. He wasn't very fond of this particular means of transportation, thinking it slightly below his status, but creating a portal would have been far more demanding, and he needed to save his strength for the battles to come. He'd chosen Andurien and a few others to accompany him, and that, at least, would make the trip slightly more bearable.

None of the party suspected that Reevan intended to leave their company as soon as they neared the Sanctum of the Stars. What he planned to do was a fool's errand, he knew, but his honor demanded it. It went beyond orders, beyond loyalty even. He had no choice but to attempt it and, if the stars aligned, he would succeed at it as well.

One way or another... he would have his sister _back_.

**5.**

_Vaala was dreaming. _

_She was drifting through a mist of sorts, so dense that it obscured everything around her. Her body felt light as a feather and her mind was pleasantly numb as well, as though a thick curtain had fallen over the thoughts troubling her as of late and muted them completely. Every now and then she heard voices, but they were too distant for her to understand what was being said. There was also laughter. Someone was singing a very faint lullaby. _

_After a while, Vaala tried to push herself towards the sounds. There were no directions here, no 'up' or 'down', no 'left' or 'right'. Even time seemed to pass by in a different way. She wasn't sure how long it was before, little by little, the mist began to gave way and then, suddenly, she found herself standing in the middle of a crowded street. _

_Everything appeared to her as though she were looking through a foggy window or a shard of stained glass. Those passing by also looked curiously distorted. She saw them mostly out of the corner of her eye. Otherwise, whenever she tried to focus on one, he or she would immediately fade into its surroundings, as though they'd never been there to begin with. __They looked like they were made of shadow rather than flesh and blood, and they moved in a strange way, almost as though they glided through the air rather than walked._ Still, from their clothing and stature, she guessed that they were elves. They were taller and more imposing than the denizens of Quel'thalas, and the garments they wore were far more rich and dazzling. Their skin, too, was not pink or white, but a soft shade of purple. This was a city of the night elves! 

_Vaala peered around with renewed curiosity. Throughout her journeys, she had encountered only a few of the elusive kal'dorei, and many had been unfriendly in the wake of the rift between their two people that dated since thousands of years ago. The night elves prided themselves in shunning any kind of magic that wasn't tied to nature... and yet, this particular place clearly made use of the arcane arts, and in such a way that made it obvious these elves were near-absolute masters of their craft. The streets were lit by enchanted crystals set in finely-sculpted pedestals, their details too intricate to have been carved by hand. Enchanted carriages glided up and down the cobblestones with no beasts or constructs to pull them. Even the air was rich with magic, drifting in lazy waves and spirals and giving everything else a mystical glow._

_There was something unsettling about this city, though. Vaala didn't know what it was, but suddenly she felt that something dreadful was about to happen very soon. The night elves went about their business, oblivious to the looming threat. Vaala reached out to touch a passing woman and gasped as her hand went right through the woman's arm. She called out to her, but her voice, too, fell on deaf ears. _

_And then, the ground began to shake. _

_One by one, the spectral denizens vanished like they'd never been there. Buildings crumbled and were reduced to dust. Giant trees toppled over as the ground underneath them rippled and cracked. Within moments, there was nothing left of the city but a few loose rocks and a broken crystal globe, and then even those were pulled below the surface and disappeared.  
_

_Then, Vaala lost her footing and fell forward. Rather than hit the ground, her body went right through it and dropped into a gaping chasm that had opened beyond. Twisted visions rose to meet her gaze, and the mist began to close around her once again. Dozens of voices were whispering at once, louder and more urgent than before. _

_'This isn't real,' Vaala thought desperately._

This isn't real..._ the voices mocked. _

_'This isn't real!'  
_

Oh, but it is...

_Eventually, Vaala felt solid ground underfoot once more and clear air all around her. She dropped to her knees and breathed deeply, grateful for the small comfort the hard surface brought in a world that had otherwise lost all cohesion. But when she tried to stand up again, she found that she could hardly move. Chains as thick as her arms wound around her body like so many serpents that had sprung out of nowhere. There was darkness all around her. The air was getting damp and cold, oh so cold... _

_Vaala struggled against the chains with all her might, but to no avail. The more she tried to break free, the tighter the chains became, until their pressure alone made it hard to even breathe. Blind panic overwhelmed her. Was she going to die like this, alone and forgotten beneath the earth, with none but- _

_'This isn't my dream,' came a sudden thought._

This is _my_ dream, _a single voice whispered back. _

_The chains receded. Vaala opened her eyes, and she saw light._

**6.**

"She's coming round," Lady Malande all but whispered. "You may stop now."

The two acolytes stepped back from where they had been channeling a powerful cleansing spell and wiped the sweat off their brows. One of them glanced shyly at their superior.

"Yes, you may leave," Malande sighed tiredly at the unspoken question. "And you," she said to the other acolyte, "send someone to let lord Illidan know that the worst has passed."

The two women bowed their heads gratefully and rushed out the door. Malande went to sit on the bed and touched Vaala's forehead lightly, noting that her skin was no longer the deathly shade of white it had been when Illidan himself had summoned her and commanded her to heal this woman, _or else. _"How do you feel?" she asked in a soft voice.

Vaala turned her head with some difficulty and looked her in the eye. "What... the hell... happened?" she managed, pausing to breathe deeply after every word.

"You were poisoned," Malande answered lightly. She neither knew nor cared to know the details, but Veras Darkshadow had been nowhere to be found when she'd sent for his advice. Malande was smart enough to put two and two together, and smarter still to keep any suspicions to herself. Whatever had happened between this woman and Veras was their business and theirs alone.

"Poisoned... yes, I do remember _that._" A long and elaborate curse in Thalassian, Orcish and another language Malande didn't recognize followed. Then, "How... how long ago?"

"A few hours, I believe."

Vaala motioned to get up and grimaced when it became obvious that she couldn't. She tried again, and this time she managed to prop herself up on one elbow. "And I suppose... I have you to thank... for my swift recovery?" There was no hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"There is no need for gratitude," Malande answered with a shrug. "I only did what I was told to do."

"Right..." Vaala muttered, letting herself fall back and wincing a little as she did so. Her lids dropped almost immediately and her breathing became softer. Within moments, she was asleep again. For someone who'd been so close to dying a mere few hours ago, she looked far better than Malande would have expected. This was, of course, another thing that she dared not question. Her tattoos marked her as a demon hunter, one of the few left after an assault on the outer terrace had all but decimated their ranks, and demon hunters possessed an uncanny ability to recuperate from wounds that would be fatal to most.

Some time later, Illidan himself came by to ask about the state of his protege. Malande bowed low, as was appropriate of her, and was rewarded with a curt nod in return. For the briefest of moments, she saw something akin to concern flicker over Illidan's features. However, when he spoke, his voice was the same cold baritone it had always been. "How is she?"

Malande chose her words carefully. "Her life is no longer in danger, my lord."

The flicker of concern came again, but now it mingled with relief. "How long before she is well again?"

"I... don't know," Malande answered truthfully. "The wounds have closed, but she is still weak. She will need to rest for a few days, perhaps more if-"

"Very well. Leave us."

Malande knew better than to question her master. She retreated with a hasty bow, careful to close the door behind her as quietly as she could.

Illidan hesitated for a moment, and then he kneeled at the bedside and took Vaala's hand into his own. She stirred a little in her sleep and smiled, but didn't open her eyes. She looked like she were having a pleasant dream.

_A dream... _Illidan hardly ever slept. His body had long since gone past any need for physical respite. And yet, sometimes, when he let his thoughts wander, he knew that part of him turned back to that primal urge to escape into a world that had nothing to do with this one, and that was when, in a way, he dreamed. It was never a pleasant ordeal, seeing as his mind was set on replaying things that he would rather forget. But that was hardly as troubling as the revelation that his latest such lapse had brought forth.

Something had gone wrong with the link between him and Vaala. Illidan had created the conduit as a safeguard, a way to keep an eye on his spy lest she betrayed him like all the others. But at some point, the link had begun to work both ways. He didn't know when or how it had happened, but whenever he touched her mind - and sometimes, even when he didn't - he could feel her reaching out to him in turns. Whether Vaala intended such a thing or even realized it was still a mystery, one that Illidan intended to clarify once and for all as soon as she awoke again.

For now, however, he was content to watch her as she slept.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's Note:**_

_Chapter 11 might be delayed a little – university just started here, and there's a kajillion things I have to take care of before the end of next week. Very sorry, but rest assured that this story will **not** be discontinued. (Re-written as of 4/30)  
_

**1.**

Reevan watched his now former party land, then prodded his dragonhawk up and away from the Sanctum of the Stars. The simple spell he used to disguise his presence had proven even more effective than he'd hoped. It would be a while before anyone noticed his absence – a short while, most likely, but enough for him to get a fair distance away. Nobody knew where he intended to go, and they would certainly be reluctant to pursue him even if they did.

The Black Temple loomed in the distance, a dark, ominous shape against the green skies of Shadowmoon Valley. Reevan suspected that the edifice had wards in place, set up in such a way that most intruders would be unable to simply teleport inside its walls. On the other hand, he'd seen the Dragonmaw orcs fly in and out on occasion, and their passing didn't seem to be hampered in any way. He planned to do the same and, once inside, to confront his sister and take her back to safety - by force, if necessary, since his trusty magic was undoubtedly superior to whatever sword tricks she could try.

The dragonhawk grew restless as they approached the desecrated temple, and even getting it to fly in a wide arc over the outer terraces proved to be almost more trouble than it was worth. The terraces were all but deserted, save for a handful of orcs gathered around a pair of combatants who pummeled each other mercilessly. The orcs never bothered to look up as both rider and mount circled high overhead, then soared over the outer wall. The only thing Reevan felt was a faint tingling sensation that disappeared as soon as they left the wall behind. For a moment he thought to double back and examine the wards in case he needed to leave by magical means, but then he abandoned the notion for fear that such an intrusion would reveal his presence to whoever maintained the barrier.

The vast courtyard that the temple overlooked was swarming with fel orcs, more than Reevan had ever seen before. Some paraded around on their drake mounts, others walked or stood on the ground, and yet others sparred with the ferocity characteristic to their race. There was a large bonfire close to the middle and several hellboars were being roasted over it, giving off a sickening odor of charred meat. Reevan flew over it quickly, eyes scanning for a way inside the temple. The massive doors that must have lead to what had once been the main chamber of worship stood slightly ajar, but the sinister auras that wafted through the opening were warning enough for Reevan to stay wall away. Instead, he prodded his mount skyward in search of a more welcoming place to land.

There was an open promenade close to the top of the massive structure, and the people that Reevan saw there were not orcs, but blood elves. He felt a pang of excitement as he guided his dragonhawk towards a withering patch of greenery. There were no elves anywhere nearby and when he landed, careful to keep the beast from making any noises that would give them away, no guards came by to question his presence.

As soon as it felt the burden of its rider lift away, the dragonhawk shook itself once and took wing again, breaking the spell that kept it concealed. Reevan cursed out loud. His mount was out of reach within moments, and if he called it back he risked alerting others to his position. Getting out of the temple was going to be a much more difficult errand now...

_If_ he was ever to get out alive.

Reevan pushed the thought away. He _would_ get out alive, of course, and his sister would come with him. He took a moment to compose himself, then walked out of the garden and onto the promenade, dropping the spell as he did so. As he'd expected, nobody paid him any heed. The faces he saw were void of any expression for the better part. He slowed his steps and did his best to emulate them even as he scanned his surroundings closely for any clues about his sister's whereabouts. Eventually, it became clear that she wasn't there.

With little else to do, Reevan chose an entrance and stepped through. This lead him to a narrow flight of stairs, then to another promenade that was considerably more populated than the last. Rather than try to mingle with the crowd – a thing that would have surely raised suspicion sooner or later – he went down a hallway with carved wooden doors spaced evenly on either side. His heart began to beat faster. The rooms behind them were probably used as makeshift homes. Was it possible that...?

The sudden sound of footsteps alerted Reevan that someone was approaching from the other side. He shrank back against the wall and cast another spell to fade from sight, and not a moment too soon. Another blood elf walked past, and Reevan barely kept himself from gasping out loud. The man's gait was familiar, as was his air of carefully studied nonchalance and the way he appeared to keep his eyes trained firmly ahead while at the same time he cast infinitesimal glances to the side to make sure he didn't miss anything. From the depths of his memories, a name rose...

Veras Darkshadow rounded another corner and disappeared.

Reevan frowned, feeling even more troubled than before. He'd known that Veras was still working for the Illidari, but part of him had hoped that the rogue had done a favor to the world at large and gotten himself killed one way or another. The two of them had worked together briefly before the failed attempt to take Shattrath, much to Reevan's unspoken chagrin. Veras was a skilled swordsman, but selfish, impulsive and even sadistic at times. His feats of cruelty were known to Scryer and Sunfury alike, and few were those who could say they truly enjoyed his company back in the day.

Reevan waited for a while to make sure that Veras wasn't coming back, then resumed his walk, keeping the spell firmly in place. Doors, doors, _doors..._ As far as he knew, Vaala could be behind any of those, but opening them one by one was hardly a course of action he could take. Eventually, the corridor opened up into a square courtyard that had housed another garden at some point. The plants were all but withered, and the fountain at the center had long since dried out. Reevan sighed in defeat. He could only double back from here and resume his search in another part of the temple, or maybe find a Sunfury daft enough to be questioned without even realizing it. Or-

Reevan's thoughts were cut off abruptly as something hard connected with the back of his head, the impact powerful enough to break his spell and momentarily cloud his vision. He still had the presence of mind to stumble forward, just as he heard the distinct sound of a blade hissing through the space his body had been occupying a moment before. A shadow moved at the edge of his vision, then vanished again.

_Veras..._ He cursed himself for letting his guard down. He should have known that Veras was crafty enough to see through his disguise. But the other had lost his momentum now, which meant that he was planning on toying with his prey a little before moving in for the kill.

He would not have that opportunity.

Struggling with the aftereffects of the one blow, Reevan began to channel another spell. Barbs of ice began to rain down all around him, some as long as his forearm and all of them wickedly sharp. It wasn't long before he heard a muffled yelp, and immediately he turned and sent a roaring ball of flame in that direction. This time, he was rewarded with a sharp cry. A second later, he saw Veras drop to the ground and writhe in agony as he tried to put the flames out.

Reevan wasn't a cruel man himself. This time, however, he had a strong urge to incinerate Veras on the spot and get it over with. He kept it in check as he summoned his resources for one last spell, conjuring chains of ice that sprung from the stone, using up what little humidity remain in the air and trapping the fallen rogue where he lay. Veras struggled against them until it became obvious that he had no chance of breaking free. A brief look of panic crossed his features, but it was quickly replaced by a sneer as Reevan closed the distance between them. "How lovely," he mocked. "Aren't you a little late to the rescue, _old friend?_"

The words stung, but Reevan did his best not to let it show. "I do not have to justify myself to scum like you."

Veras did his best to shrug despite his bonds. "Oh, you don't have to justify yourself to _me_, of course. It must be bad enough having to live with what you've done."

However much Veras knew, he was clearly attempting to use it as leverage to break Reevan's concentration. This was where the many years of training and fighting paid off. In spite of his inward turmoil, the magister wasn't about to lose his concentration enough for the spell to break. "I am a soldier," he said evenly, "just like you used to be."

This earned him a glare. "We were _never_ alike. At least I know _I_ would never betray my kin."

"You wouldn't know the meaning of the word 'kin'. You were all you ever cared about. Or did you forget-"

"She suffers because of you, Spymaster," Veras cut in with enough emphasis to make the accusation even more dramatic. "How does that make you _feel?_"

Reevan flared. Anger rose like a tide, but it was mingled with terrible, terrible guilt. "What do you know?" he demanded.

"More than what _you_ know, clearly. We are very close, she and I. In fact, one can say we're even-"

The sentence was cut off by a shriek as Reevan summoned a wreathe of flames, potent enough to do damage without putting the rogue's life in jeopardy just yet. He kept the spell going for a few moments even as he did his best not to cringe at the screams and the smell of burnt flesh. "I've no time for your games, Veras," he warned. "You will tell me what I want to know if I have to burn the secrets from your flesh."

Veras coughed miserably. "Go to hell."

Reevan could see through such pointless bravado. He knew that Veras would lie, threaten, beg and squirm like the rat he was, but he _would_ talk eventually. This was a game of who could hold out the longest, and Reevan wasn't about to lose.

Another scream pierced the air.

**2.**

Vaala arose from yet another troubling dream. She kept her eyes closed for a while, banishing the last remnants of the visions to the back of her awareness. Her body felt heavy and numb, but not at all unpleasant. She suspected that the healing she'd received had a lot to do with it, but other than that, the rest she'd been allowed was working wonders. The training had taken a heavy toll... and something else had happened, hadn't it?

Little by little, memories began to seep back into her mind: the council meeting, Zerevor's decision, then Veras - _curse that man! Veras knew!_ - who'd attacked her and proclaimed that he would expose her for what she was...That didn't matter, though. Illidan was on her side still, and what was even more surprising, he'd taken it upon himself to intervene and... _save her? _Eyes still closed, Vaala frowned at the recollection. _That_ had come as an absolute surprise. Illidan had even sent Lady Malande - the supreme cleric of Karabor, no less! - to tend to her wounds. Such was a tremendous favor on his part, even if his motivations were entirely selfish in the end.

And speaking Illidan, Vaala could feel his presence nearby. She opened her eyes. They took a few seconds to adjust to the murky light in the room, but when they did, she saw a silhouette standing at the foot of her bed. The broad shoulders, massive wings and curled horns made it obvious who he was.

"My lord...?"

Illidan snapped out of whatever thoughts he was having, looked to her and gave her that almost-smile which came closest to expressing any kind of benevolent emotion. "Ah. Welcome back. You had me worried for a while."

Vaala arched an eyebrow. '_Worried?_' she thought incredulously. '_He was _worried!'

"And why not?" Illidan snapped. "Few though they may be, I _do_ care for my chosen."

"I didn't say anything," Vaala pointed out dryly.

"You were thinking it."

Silence.

"How do you feel?"

There was no point in lying, but Vaala wasn't one to sugar-coat the truth, either. "Physically, I've been worse. Otherwise... confused. Not because you..." Here, she fumbled for the right words before settling for, "Thank you, but I _was _winning either way."

"Of course you were." There was a small hint of amusement in Illidan's voice, and it made Vaala grin. "As for your... confusion... I believe I know its cause. Have you had any... troubling visions, as of late? Dreams, perhaps?"

"Both." A pause, then, "This... wasn't meant to happen, was it." It wasn't a question.

It wasn't like Illidan to admit failure, but this time he gave a small nod, which was the closest he'd ever come to it. "There are things that you weren't ever meant to know, but now that you do, I trust you'll keep them to yourself."

Vaala sat up, noting with passing satisfaction that the motion wasn't nearly as demanding as she'd feared. "What do they mean?" She knew the odds of ever receiving an honest answer were small, but she had to ask either way.

To her surprise, Illidan stepped closer and pinned her with a curious stare. "To answer that, I must first know exactly what you saw."

"I don't really remember much," Vaala said truthfully. "Several times now, I saw a city, and there were people there, but..." Slowly, she began to recount her most recent dream-visions, such as they may be called, careful not to omit any details that might have made her sound insincere.

Illidan was silent for a long while after she'd finished. Then, finally, he shifted his weight and said, "Those weren't dreams."

"Memories, then?" Somehow, Vaala knew it to be true even before she saw Illidan nod again. "Either way, you needn't worry. As you said, nobody else needs to know about this." Unbidden, her mind added, '_Nobody else needs to know just how broken you are, and I can promise you they won't._' She didn't know whether or not he'd caught the thought, but somehow she felt better for thinking it either way.

There was another pause, much longer this time. "I'll have you know I haven't dealt with Veras Darkshadow yet, as per your request," Illidan said eventually. "Though I must inquire as to what possessed you to plead for his life in the first place."

The not-so-subtle change of subject wasn't entirely unexpected. This probably meant that Illidan had found out everything he wanted to know and wouldn't raise the issue again. And still, for a brief moment, Vaala sensed rather than saw his gratitude. This day, it seemed, would be full of surprises.

"He's useful, my lord," Vaala answered. "He may be a pest, but you still need his assassins to do their part if you hope to ever accomplish anything here." Idly, she wondered if Illidan would have killed Veras otherwise. Yes, he probably would have.

Illidan frowned thoughtfully. "Ever the perceptive one... and yes, I suppose that makes sense." he said grudgingly. "Still, be that as it may, his impertinence must be dealt with in some way."

"I'll handle it," Vaala said quickly. Losing such an asset to a momentary fit of rage was hardly advisable, even when said asset was nothing short of a murderous scoundrel who was just as likely to use others as he was to be used.

"You will not."

Not entirely unexpected, but, "Are you certain?"

"I forbid it!" Illidan said again, more forcefully this time. "He nearly killed you the last time."

Vaala crossed her arms, glaring. She didn't particularly enjoy being reminded of it. "I can look after myself just f-"

"You are to stay _away _from him. Do you understand?"

Vaala rolled her eyes. Veras had caught her unarmed and unprepared, but she had no doubts that she would have overpowered him in the end had the circumstances been different. Of course, knowing Illidan, there was no point in arguing the matter any further. "Yes, my lord," she sighed. A moment later, she added, "As long as he stays away from me, too. Otherwise, I make no promises."

Before Illidan could respond, the door swung open with a loud noise. He whirled around, ready to chastise whoever it was for the interruption - and, much to his surprise, his eyes found a very startled magister staring back.

"_Reevan?_" Vaala blurted out just as the magister cast a spell and disappeared...

...or rather _thought_ he'd made himself disappear, because his presence was still obvious to Illidan's prenatural sight. He was frozen in place, one hand still on the doorknob. At least he wasn't foolish enough to risk an attack, which would have left Illidan no choice but to strike back swiftly and decisively. As it were, in a rare show of gratitude, he decided to allow this unexpected meeting to unfold while making a note to find out just how a lone Scryer had managed to infiltrate this far into his stronghold.

Vaala jumped to her feet. She had to Illidan's arm to steady herself, not caring in the least that she risked much by displaying such familiarity. "That... that was..." She swallowed thickly. "That was my brother."

"I know," Illidan said quietly. He covered her hand with his for a moment in a reassuring gesture. "I would commend him for making it this far... _if_ he were still here, of course." He made a show of looking around with feigned disappointment. "I will allow you to rest today," he went on as he strode to the door. "See to it that you are fit for training tomorrow. You have much to learn, still." With that he casually walked out, passing a mere few inches away from the startled magister.

**3.**

Reevan waited in utter stillness until it became clear that Illidan wasn't coming back. His mind still reeled from the unexpected encounter. So, Veras hadn't lied after all. The crafty bastard had become _very_ eager to talk towards the end, just as Reevan had expected, but some of the things he'd said were hard to believe even when faced with indisputable evidence. Veras had managed to use one of his tricks and escape before he could be questioned as to how, exactly, Vaala had managed to earn Illidan's trust, even though it was doubtful he knew it either way. The fact that Illidan hadn't so much as attempted to uncover his presence, let alone raise the alarm, was nothing short of vexing.

Vaala was sitting down on her bed with her head in her hands and her eyes closed. She looked worse than Reevan had expected to find her. A bloodied bandage covered one of her forearms. Reevan caught a glimpse of a strange marking that coiled around her wrist and up her arm, until it became obscured by the fabric. He frowned. The design wasn't at all unfamiliar. He'd seen similar markings adorning the bodies of demon hunters before, most notably those he'd sent to the afterlife himself when the Scryers had cleared the outer terraces of the Black Temple and decimated their ranks. Surely, his sister wasn't one of them now?

A small burst of magic made Reevan look to the medallion his sister wore over her robes, a simple gem of indistinct color set in a heavy silver frame. The magic had come from there, apparent even from where he stood. Where in the world had Vaala gotten hold of such an artifact? She was hardly one to concern herself with jewelry, which meant that the medallion had to serve a purpose he couldn't divine.

It was time for some answers.

Reevan closed the door behind him and locked it as an afterthought. Vaala's eyes snapped open at the sound and she called out his name softly. He waited a little more, aware of a sudden wave of contradicting emotions that threatened to cloud his better judgment. This situation was anything but straightforward, and he knew that any mistake on his part could have dire consequences for them both.

His appearance was greeted with a mixture of shock and relief when he finally dropped his disguise. He hesitated a little, unsure of how to begin, but Vaala was quicker this time. "What the _hell _do you think you're doing here?" she asked, her voice shaking a little.

If this was how things were going to play out, then Reevan wouldn't back down. "I've come to take you back," he said simply, fighting to keep the tension out of his voice. "By force, if I have to."

Vaala rubbed her temples and gave a weary sigh. "That isn't going to happen," she said flatly. "I thought I made it clear enough that I intend to stay here until I've taken care of my own affairs, but you just can't take no for an answer, can you, Reevan. So I'll say this again: here I am, and here I _stay._"

Reevan studied her closely as she spoke. The only traces of magic radiating from her came from the medallion, but that couldn't have possibly been enough to keep her under any kind of sway. "Have you lost your _mind?_" he asked when she was finished. "Illidan is our enemy-"

"_Your_ enemy. Not mine."

"How can you say that? Illidan betrayed our people-"

"I don't think I need to remind you who betrayed who," Vaala said icily.

Reevan bit his lower lip, thinking furiously. This conversation was quickly heading towards an inevitable finale, one that he felt powerless to stop even when he knew full well that righteousness was on his side. A small but nagging thought stirred, reminding him that this predicament was entirely of his own making. Or... was it? Given the choice whether to live and side with Illidan or face a quick and gruesome end, how could he fault his sister for doing whatever it took to stay alive?

"You're hesitating, I see," Vaala said after a while. "Looks like your beliefs aren't-"

"And what do _you_ believe in, Vaala?" Reevan cut in, annoyed. "Notions like 'loyalty' or 'duty' mean nothing to you, and you would just as readily serve one master as another. What was in it for you this time? Gold? Power? _Trinkets?_" He glared meaningfully at the medallion as he said the last word.

Vaala didn't take the bait. "I believe in surviving," she said simply. "None of the rest would do me any good if I were dead - or, for that matter, if _you_ were dead. You shouldn't have come."

Reevan straightened up and glared at her defiantly. "Yet here I am."

"Yes... here you are." Vaala shook her head, wondering not for the first time how one so stubborn had managed to even survive for this long. "You've had a fool's luck so far, you know. If Illidan hadn't been the one to find you, you'd probably be dead by now."

"By your hand, I presume?" Reevan asked bitterly.

Vaala flinched. "'I couldn't give my loyalty if it meant I would ever have to raise my sword against you, and Illidan knows that. In the beginning, I made him promise..." She chuckled a little at how that must have sounded to Reevan before continuing, "I made him promise that he wouldn't hurt you, and he did. Once that was out of the way, I pledged myself to him, and I intend to stand by it and see this through to the end."

"_This_ will be over sooner than you think," Reevan said darkly. "There is a large army amassing even now, and once they breach the temple gates I cannot promise that I will be there to protect you."

Vaala said nothing. Instead, she stood quickly and closed the distance between them, moving with unbelievable swiftness, and then wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace."You won't have to protect me, you idiot," she whispered, and he heard rather than saw that tears were being shed freely. "I'll be the one protecting you."

**4.**

It had felt like the right thing to do and, as Reevan pulled her even closer, Vaala closed her eyes, enjoying the touch and the comfort it brought. The gratitude she felt at the thought that he'd braved the odds to attempt a rescue he knew would fail was beyond words even when it made the burden of her decisions feel even heavier than it had before. War, she thought bitterly, was such a twisted affair. Neither of them had any business being caught in it, and yet they found themselves on different sides, the gap bridged only by the knowledge that, in spite of it all, they were still kin.

That didn't change the fact that every moment spent here put Reevan's life even more at risk. "You have to go," Vaala said suddenly, pulling away.

Reevan shook his head wordlessly.

Vaala rolled her eyes, biting back a sharp retort. "You aren't safe here," she said instead. "If someone else finds you, I'll have no choice but to cut them down, and I know for a fact that Illidan wouldn't like that."

"You truly do intend to stay here," Reevan said quietly, and from his voice she knew that he was finally coming to terms with it at last.

"There is no other way. For all it's worth, this is where I belong. You, of all people, should know how much that matters to me."

"Before I leave, then..." Reevan sighed deeply, as though even considering the notion of leaving without her was beyond him. "Tell me what happened to you since the last time we met. How did you even come to meet Illidan, let alone serve him? Last I heard, he was-"

"The things you heard aren't necessarily true," Vaala said quickly. "Lord Illidan is... different from what I'd expected. For one, he let me live, and since then I did my best not to give him any reason to regret that decision."

_And you were wise to do so,_ came Illidan's voice a second later. _You may tell your brother anything you deem fit, but after that, you will either persuade him to join me or have him leave the temple and never return.  
_

"You will hear my story, and then you will leave," Vaala went on, touching the medallion ever so faintly to show that the message had been received.

Reevan nodded once and said nothing more.

**5.**

The massive gates of the Black Temple parted to allow a handful of Sunfury soldiers through. The dents and gashes in their armor and their ragged tabards were both signs that they'd just returned from a dreadful battle. Many were wounded, some so badly that they had to lean on their comrades for support. They crossed the courtyard to the cheers and jeers of the fel orcs, who saw themselves as the only true warriors in service of the Illidari, and then they disappeared inside the upper tier.

Not long after, Gathios the Shatterer was roused from his sleep by one of his guards and told that a messenger from the field had arrived. He had the messenger ushered to an adjacent room while he put on his armor and hurriedly combed back his hair. After all, the image of a bleary-eyed general in his night robes was hardly inspiring, and it was best to have his soldiers believe that he was always waiting, always ready. When he finally stepped out to meet the messenger, Gathios once again looked like someone fully in command of himself and of all those around him.

Moments later, however, his carefully-studied composure all but gave way to a frothing rage. It took a great effort not to lash out at the man in front of him, though the courier had no fault other than being the bearer of such ill news. He was dismissed with little ceremony, then, with his last shred of self-control, Gathios sent for the other members of the Council. Finally, he strode back to his chambers, keeping his features locked in an expression that didn't give away anything, and locked his door behind him. Moments later, the guards posted at the other end of the antechamber heard a loud crashing noise that carried out into the corridor beyond.

Lady Malande was the first to answer the summons. Gathios saw her in with the same blank expression and motioned for her to wait. Out of the corner of her eye, Malande saw that the table on which the Sunfury general usually kept his papers had all but been broken in two. Wisely, she decided not to ask why.

Zerevor, on the other hand, took his time to arrive. The nethermancer had dark circles under his eyes, which meant that he probably hadn't slept at all. He wasted no time in questioning the sudden call.

And then, Gathios told them.

The revelation was met with stunned silence at first. Zerevor was the first to recover from the shock enough to curse out loud. Such a crude and uncharacteristic display from the nethermancer did nothing to alleviate the situation.

Much later, another messenger was sent to Illidan's sanctum. The messenger reached the top of the temple, was allowed entrance, and was never seen or heard from again.

A mere few hours after the soldiers had returned, the news had already traveled around the temple, making everyone's hearts cringe with dread. The Aldor had returned to the valley, and in far greater numbers than before.

**6.**

"A demon hunter," Reevan said pensively when Vaala was finally done with her tale. He looked his sister up and down, frowning. "And you accepted this offer?"

'_I had no choice _but_ to accept_ _it_', Vaala thought bitterly. Out loud, she said, "As I've already told you... and as you've undoubtedly seen already." She pushed up the sleeve of her robe a little to display the markings there.

Reevan crossed his arms. "You claim that Illidan trusts you... yet from what you've told me, all I can grasp is that you're little more than another pawn in his games. Or, are you going to say that he _cares_ for you?"

"He didn't kill you," Vaala said dryly. "And don't think it's because you evaded him, because nothing can escape his sight."

This, at last, drove the point home. "I don't know how you did it... but..." Reevan shook his head when the words failed him. "I don't know what to say to you, Vaala," he said in a hollow voice. "What will I be to you? And what will happen when-"

"You are and will always be my brother," Vaala said quickly. "And you must leave now," she added when she felt the link stir in an unspoken warning.

"Yes... of course. Although I don't expect to be allowed to simply walk out of here, whether I'm under your _protection_ or not." By the sound of it, Reevan had still to come to terms with such a notion.

Vaala thought about it for a moment. "How did you manage to get here in the first place?" she asked, running a hand through her hair.

"I flew in," Reevan said, and then he sighed deeply. "My mount fled as soon as I landed, though, so I'm afraid that is no longer an option."

"I don't suppose you'd agree to actually stay here," Vaala said lightly. The glare she got in return was answer enough. So much for the easy way out, she thought exasperatedly. "If not... you can take my drake."

That settled the matter. They said nothing more to each other until they were out in the courtyard. Along the way, Reevan began to notice how other blood elves and broken draenei they came across hurried to get out of their way. The fel orcs had no such courtesy, but even they allowed them unhindered passage. Eventually, they came to a stop next to the drake pens.

"Have you ever flown on one of these before?" Vaala asked as she moved to untie one of the winged beasts.

Reevan gave a slow, pensive nod. "How do you control him?"

"_Her_ name is Skybane," Vaala said with a hint of amusement. "She doesn't need much controlling, from what I've seen. Just... be sure to point her in the right direction, and then hold on tight. She'll take you back to the Sanctum of the Stars faster than any of your dragonhawks."

Reevan mounted slowly, finding to his chagrin that his heavy robes hindered his movements more than he liked, and then had to grab on to the saddle with all his strength when Skybane clawed at the ground, shifting from side to side as she adjusted to the added weight of her new rider. Finally, he leaned down. "When this is over, I will come for you," he whispered. "In the meantime... be safe."

Vaala brought her hand to her forehead in a mock salute.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's Note:**_

_Looks like I managed to wrap up this week's chapter (almost) on time after all. *wipes forehead* Writing this one was pretty challenging, but I'm happy with the way it turned out in the end. Alternating perspectives are fun! (Re-written as of 5/1)  
_

**1.**

Few were those who learned of the vast catacombs underneath the Black Temple, and fewer still lived to tell the tale. No-one, not even Illidan himself, knew how far they stretched. Some of the tunnels and chambers had collapsed over the years, or been destroyed in skirmishes with the last remnants of Mag'theridon's forces, but those that were still intact had been put to other uses now. Some were prisons, others were caches of armor, weapons and riches, and yet others still held their secrets after all this time.

It was in one of these chambers that seven warlocks toiled, gathered around a ritual circle that covered most of the stone floor. This one was large, so large in fact that the light from the braziers which adorned the walls could barely reach up to the vaulted ceiling. In the middle of it, a portal swirled. This portal did not lead to any place that mortals could go, but to the Twisting Nether itself, a place of chaos and magics so powerful they could rend one's very soul to infinitesimal shreds. Even with the near-absolute protection that the runes encircling it were supposed to offer, the energies emanating from the portal were powerful enough to be unsettling. Any oversight, no matter how small, could cause the entire ritual to fail and the trapped energies to wreak havoc once released.

And still, the summoners worked on.

Their lord and master had given them precise instructions about what needed to be done. They were to summon a demon from the Nether, and then to keep it contained until such a time that it would be needed elsewhere. They didn't need to know what purpose this would serve. Theirs was not to question, but to obey.

A shadow appeared inside the portal, darker than even the blackness it drifted against. The warlocks renewed their efforts even as two of them recoiled from the portal in dread the creature they were about to usher into this world.

After a while, the shadow began to take a more coherent shape. It was tall, so tall that it towered easily over the assembled casters. Its skin was a deathly white, and blood-red armor covered most of its body. Fel-green eyes peered from underneath large, curled horns. Clawed hands were curled into fists twice the size of those a man would have. A pair of massive wings stretched from its back, making it look even more menacing. The chanting reached a new crescendo. Then, finally, the eldest warlock released the spell that kept the portal's contents sealed within.

The dreadlord stepped out of the portal with some difficulty and surveyed its surroundings. His skeletal features were locked in an expression of obvious displeasure. "Who dares summon me?" he rumbled, his voice carrying to the farthest corners of the chamber easily and stirring the shadows there.

At last, the warlocks stopped their chanting. Some took a few hasty steps back, putting as much distance as they dared between themselves and the demonic circle. The intricate runes were supposed to keep the dreadlord contained – but then again, a lot of things that were supposed to go one way or another had gone wrong as of late. One of the summoners, whose elaborate robes and embroidered mantle marked him as a caster of higher standing, squared his shoulders. "You are bound to me... demon..."

The dreadlord's frown was replaced by an almost pensive look. He raised a hand. The warlock's voice faltered and his hand flew to his throat in desperation.

The demonic circle disappeared. It didn't fade away, as was usual with visual spellforms that had already served their purpose, but was dispatched of completely with a sound akin to that of a large stained-glass window shattering. The torches adorning the walls flickered and were snuffed out by a gale that had stirred out of nowhere. Spells seared through the darkness, some flashing bright enough to reveal silhouettes scuffling to get out of the way or fighting to stand their ground and cast. Several voices screamed. Then, one by one, they were cut off.

Some minutes after, the torches flickered back to life. The dreadlord surveyed the carnage he had inflicted, and for the first time he eased his expression into a grin. However, as he turned to where the portal had been, the gleeful expression vanished. Without any casters to sustain it, the portal had all but closed. There was still a small conduit between the Twisting Nether and this world, wherever it was, but it was too small and too weak now to allow the dreadlord to return.

With that one path cut off, there was only one other thing left for him to do. The warlocks he'd slain didn't look like the power-hungry sort. They were probably working for another... and, if this was true, then he would take joy in finding whatever insect was responsible for this dire insult and punish them for the affront.

**2.**

Gathios the Shatterer was a man of both strategy and action. He had the utmost confidence in his army's ability to follow orders, and he knew that his army, in their turn, trusted him to lead them to victory or bring them back alive when faced with a defeat. Right now, however, his army barely numbered seventy men strong, with only a few spellcasters and three white-faced clerics who looked like they would very much rather be somewhere else.

In fact, morale was lower than he'd ever seen it before. The defeat at the Altar of Sha'tar was still painfully fresh in memory for many. Their losses had been many, and more infuriating still was the fact that in their direst hour, there had been no-one to inspire them or order them to flee. Some had done so regardless even before the battle had begun. Others had stood their ground and fought to their inevitable demise. Many lives had been lost.

Gathios hoped with all his heart that he could give his soldiers a victory to be cheered for the weeks to come. The Sanctum of the Stars was less than half a day's march away, and he knew that as it were, their defenses were laughable. He surveyed his troops with a touch of pride. They knew what their duty was, and they would –

"Sir...?" came a timid voice from somewhere among the ranks.

Gathios blinked as his train of thought came to a momentary halt. The front row of soldiers parted to reveal one of the clerics sent by Lady Malande, a fairly young man who all but withered under the general's stare. "Well?" Gathios demanded, trying to keep his voice level. "What is it? Speak!"

"My mother is a Scryer..." the cleric muttered, looking ashamed. "Last I heard... she was still with the Scryers at the Sanctum of the Stars..."

Gathios bit his lower lip to stifle a curse. Fighting the Aldor was easy enough, since their respective races had had no dealings with each other in the past other than war. The Scryers, however, were an entirely different matter. Some of the soldiers now regarded the cleric with openly sympathetic looks, and he could guess that those men and women also had loved ones who had switched sides in the battle for Shattrath. Gathios himself had lost several trusted friends on that day. Even now he dreaded the moment when he would have to face them on the battlefield, a moment which was fast approaching. He would have to slay them. There would be no other choice.

But such were not thoughts for a man of his rank to entertain. Handling this particular issue swiftly was far more important now. Gathios thought about it for a few moments, than waved a hand dismissively. "You may stay behind." His gaze passed over the assembled Sunfury, giving each of them the impression that he had looked them in the eye for the briefest of moments. "Anyone else?" he asked.

Three soldiers and a caster stepped forward. They had the decency to look ashamed, at least. Gathios did his best to hide his disappointment. He could understand their plight, but even one man on the field of battle could make all the difference sometimes. "Very well," he sighed. "You may _all_ stay." He raised his voice. "As for the rest of you _true_ fighters -" he couldn't help but say it, and he didn't care when several others frowned or looked away "- the day of reckoning has come. We will fight – and _we will triumph! For justice! For the Illidari!_"

The cry was picked up and echoed by the assembled Sunfury, and Gathios felt his chest swell with pride. They needed this one victory. They _deserved_ it. And they _would_ have it, he promised himself, whatever it took.

...From his hiding place in one of the empty drake pens, Veras Darkshadow watched Gathios and his followers march out of the temple gates. He shook his head and muttered, "Fools." Then, he stepped through the shadows and disappeared.

**3.**

Vaala had made an even swifter recovery than Lady Malande had foreseen. It was barely two days later, and her injuries hardly hindered her anymore. She suspected this was largely because she'd been allowed to rest fully. Exhaustion had probably settled in long before Veras' poisons had done the rest of the work, and any demonic empowerment could only offer so much in terms of genuine endurance. After Reevan's departure she'd slept for the day and most of the night, awoken to consume a small meal, then slept some more. Indeed, she'd felt like she could sleep forever.

That wasn't the case anymore, however. In fact, Vaala felt confident that she could rise up to whatever challenges Illidan would undoubtedly face her with as soon as he realized that she was fit for training once more.

And this posed another problem.

Not a day before, Illidan had made it clear to her that her training, once resumed, would become even more demanding than before. And, in a rare moment of sincerity, the demon lord had also mentioned that three out of five blood elves he'd trained before had perished at this stage. How it was, exactly, that the three had met their doom was still a mystery, and Vaala would have gladly left it at that in other circumstances. As things were, though, it paid to be prepared - and first of all, she had to know what to prepare _for_. Thus far, she knew nothing... and not only as far as her future was concerned.

Vaala had fallen out of touch with the rest of the world when she had pledged herself to Illidan. Things were undoubtedly happening both within and outside the temple walls. Last she'd heard, Gathios and the other members of the Council were planning to strike at the Scryers. Reevan had probably made it to the Sanctum of the Stars unharmed, but Skybane had yet to return with or without him. Either way, Vaala knew him well enough to rest assured that he would give as good as he got in any battle. What worried her, on the other hand, was that Reevan was never one to stand down until either victory was claimed or defeat was all but certain. He was stubborn and proud, and these were both dangerous traits to be had when facing less than favorable odds. For once, all she could do was hope that things would reach a favorable outcome.

And still, as far as Vaala knew or cared, hope was an inspiration only for those who deluded themselves that that they could depend upon a higher power to set things straight. It was commonly born out of desperation and, for all of its toted mysticism, it usually did little good to those who left everything to some benevolent incarnation of destiny that probably couldn't care less. Other races worshipped the Light, Elune, An'she, even the Naaru. The sin'dorei didn't believe in deities. What little religion they had, such as it may have been called, usually revolved around magic and the many ways it would enrich one's life. Sure, there were those who wielded some form of holy power and called themselves priests, but even they were at a loss when it came to more... spiritual things.

Nevertheless, as a child, Vaala had been taught to pray. A number of human priests had visited Silvermoon City once, sent by whatever human king had ruled then to learn the ways of the more seasoned elven clerics. Vaala's own mother had been among those appointed to teach the humans, and she'd come back with a number of prayers humans insisted had the power to stir the Light. The matriarch of the Dawnstrike clan had then passed on the knowledge to her offspring, even though Vaala had never quite gathered why humans were so taken with words that couldn't evoke any tangible magic. But now, she understood. And, in the silence and seclusion of her chambers, Vaala prayed to whatever deity may or may not have been listening like she'd never done before.

**4.**

Reevan had been pleased to find that his absence had only caused a momentary puzzlement, all but lost in the general excitement of what was about to happen. Earlier that day, several runners had come bearing news of the Scryer army's imminent arrival, hot on the heels of the Aldor force that had dispatched the Sunfury garrison at the Altar of Sha'tar. A large portion of the Netherwing fields that the Sanctum overlooked had been cleared to make room for them to set up camp.

Unnoticed by most, Reevan had taken refuge into the small room he customarily used as an office of sorts, away from the commotion. War left room for little bureaucracy, but somehow the Scryers still managed to make one's life difficult when it came to paperwork. There were reports to be read, orders to be reviewed, and yet more reports to be written and sent to Shattrath and a dozen other places scattered across Draenor. With the war about to take a different turn, there had been a flurry of activity lately. Units from every corner of the broken world were being called upon to assist, and coordinating their movements was a task that the generals were swift to delegate to other conscripts so they could concentrate solely on their strategies.

Reevan skimmed through the papers with a sigh. There was yet another message from Voren'thal, which also bore the seal of one of the Aldor anchorites. There were a few reports from spies stationed at key vantage points around the valley. And finally, there was one other unremarkable piece of parchment, written in the hand of someone who obviously wasn't used to elven runes. Reevan scanned it and nodded to himself with a small smile. The Aldor were settling back in their former outpost and around it. They were ready.

Suddenly, a horn blared outside, then another. There was shouting. Reevan frowned. The rest of the army couldn't have possibly-

He was standing at the window before the last thought ever had time to fully form. There was, indeed, a marching army in the distance, but the banners they carried were not Scryer, but Sunfury, and they advanced with definite purpose towards the Sanctum of the Stars. So much for Vaala's claim that she could keep deterring the Sunfury from striking here, then.

Reevan cast a quick spell. A second later, he was standing next to Commander Hobb, a seasoned officer who oversaw all Scryer operations throughout Shadowmoon Valley. Hobb was already shouting orders left and right, instructing the archers to form a defensive line and stationing spellcasters at even distances between them. Heavily-armored warriors were there to protect their more fragile comrades, ready to charge forward and engage the enemy, and skirmishers were lining up on either flank, ready to reinforce the line wherever it faltered or charge if there was a breach in the Sunfury advance.

"This does not bode well," Hobb said ominously once the defenses had been sorted out.

"We will hold," Reevan answered defiantly. "We _must!_"

Hobb nodded grimly, then barked an order. Immediately, his archers nocked arrows into their bows, took aim, and fired. Most of the volley was deflected by whatever enchantments protected the advancing Sunfury. A few, however, found their mark. Those pierced by them fell and didn't rise again.

The first few lines of attackers broke rank and charged, but the rest scattered as the ground they were standing on erupted with arcane bursts. Fire and ice rained from above. The Scryer casters had joined in the fray, and each of their spells was powerful enough to wreak havoc among enemy soldiers. But the Sunfury did not waver. Arrows rained down on the defenders as melee fighters from either side met and crossed blades. The air was quickly filled with the screams of the wounded and the clatter of metal against metal.

Without warning, a large ball of fire struck one of the guard towers, close to the top. Those underneath scrambled to get out of the way as shards of rock and crystal rained down. Another fireball exploded high overhead, filling the air with ash and cinders and making it difficult to breathe.

Reevan spotted the caster responsible for the attacks and immediately focused his attention on her alone. The Sunfury woman was already raising her arms, readying another fiery attack. Her own magical defenses were pathetically weak; she was obviously saving her mana pool for offensive spells and counting on those around her for protection. Reevan smirked and raised a quick ward of his own for good measure. Then, he concentrated and struck.

The woman reeled back as her body was engulfed in flames. She didn't even have time to scream. Within moments, there was nothing but a pile of ashes left of her. Those immediately around her were frozen in shock, spells and arrows forgotten. Reevan didn't waste any time to gloat. He cast another incineration spell, and then a third one. He was dimly aware that he was overtaxing his body by doing so, but at the moment he hardly cared. They had to hold and, by the nether, they would, even if it meant that he would have to take out every bloody Sunfury himself.

A scream from nearby made Reevan turn around. Whether by trickery or sheer force, a few Sunfury had managed to break through to the archers and casters at the back. Commander Hobb was fighting two of them while his guards took on several more. Yet another was creeping towards an unsuspecting magistrix whose back was turned.

Reevan didn't even need to think, because his body acted as if on its own. A mere second later, the ceremonial dagger he carried was buried to the hilt in the Sunfury's neck. The magistrix whirled around in surprise as her would-be attacker slumped to the ground with a strangled gasp and rocked violently in the throes of death.

Reevan looked down at his bloodied hands with curious detachment. He was no stranger to killing men, but this... _this_ felt different. Usually, it was his spells that did the job. Far easier to channel, and also far less... thrilling, yes, that was the word. His heart was pounding, not with fear, but with excitement. No-one would have expected him to take down an opponent in such a manner. Again, he thought about his sister. Was this how she felt, then, each time she took a life?

'_It could have been her,_' came an unbidden thought.

That man could have been _her_. And he would have been forced to do the same.

"Reevan? What in the hell are you _doing?_"

The shout made Reevan snap back to his surroundings. Someone yanked his arm and pulled him down as several arrows landed where he'd been. He blinked and saw Andurien glaring at him. The priest looked even more bedraggled than usual, but even so, his form was enveloped by a halo of silvery light and his presence alone was enough to soothe Reevan's frayed nerves a little. "Are you hurt?" he asked, concerned. "There's blood-"

"Not my own," Reevan said distractedly. The rogue Sunfury infiltrators had been taken care of, but there were more of them waiting to charge forward and it was only a matter of time before those who fought at the front would be overwhelmed, by sheer numbers if nothing else.

Andurien shook his arm, then gestured to the unfolding battle. "We must hold until our reinforcements arrive. Come! Your strength is needed to-"

But Reevan was no longer listening. The Sunfury were formidable fighters, as were the Scryers, and all fought against each other in a battle that would ultimately serve no purpose but fuel the delusions of those in charge. There was no glory to be had at the end of the day, because no Scryer would ever take pride in taking the life of another sin'dorei. That Vaala wasn't among the attackers was a small comfort, but others here couldn't have possibly been that fortunate. The man he'd slain had been someone's brother, or parent, or lover, and so were countless others who had already fallen on this day.

Surely, they were all soldiers, but they were also kindred, in a way. The blood elves as a whole had braved the Scourge, the frozen wastelands of Northrend and the horrors of what had once been Mag'theridon's seat of power, and united they had triumphed. Yet, now, they faced each other on the battlefield, and it was either kill or be killed for the sole reason of living to fight another day. This needn't have happened. Not now. Not _ever_. Something needed to be _done..._

It was too late for words. And all around him, one by one, the defenders began to fall.

**5.**

The catacombs stretched for miles in every direction. It quickly became apparent to the dreadlord that he was trapped and without any hopes of getting out on his own. If anything, he was probably walking in circles. His steps had carried him back to the chamber he'd been summoned in several times now and the corridors around it were already starting to look vaguely familiar. He turned down a narrow passage he hadn't noticed before but that, too, turned out to be a dead end. The dreadlord shrieked his rage and clawed at the barrage, but the effort only managed to dislodge a few stones and reveal solid rock underneath. He doubled back. A bifurcation of the same passage was barred by a steel gate warded by spells too powerful for him to break.

The dreadlord went back to the first chamber and sat on the floor, in the spot where the demonic circle had been. What manner of place was this, anyway? The air was heavy with fel energies, but he sensed no other souls in the vicinity, living or otherwise. For a moment, the dreadlord almost regretted having killed all of the summoners. Perhaps one of them could have enlightened him before he sucked the life out of their wretched bodies...

The air shifted. The dreadlord stopped his pacing, his curiosity piqued despite his mounting frustration. A faint, rhythmic sound reached his ears. He looked around. There was no-one in sight but for the slain warlocks, and their contorted bodies still lay where he'd tossed them.

The sound grew stronger. The dreadlord looked up.

A winged figure hovered briefly overhead before vanishing in a swirl of magic. The captive demon flew up, but he was met only with the faint remains of the spell. There was no mistaking the taint that permeated the air where the other had been. The spell had been demonic in nature, but...

The dreadlord frowned. Why would another demon - but no... the magic was strong, but not entirely pure. A half-breed, then... one that was probably too scared to face a true warrior of the Burning Legion. But even though inflicting terror upon others was something that demons in general greatly enjoyed, this did nothing to improve the situation at hand.

The unexpected presence reappeared some distance away, hovering lazily in mid-air with the aid of magic rather than through the beating of its wings. The dreadlord studied him with a frown. The warglaives the other carried looked deadly, and even though it was nigh impossible to deal a serious blow to a demon in their mortal shell, flesh wounds were painful and a considerable nuisance nonetheless.

"I have a proposal for you, demon," the winged figure offered.

"A proposal?" The dreadlord concealed a smirk. Bargains between demons and mortals weren't at all that uncommon. In most cases, if not all, they ended up badly for the latter. "Let's hear it, then," he rumbled.

"I have brought you here to face one of my chosen in battle. Should you defeat them, I will allow your freedom."

"Allow _me?_ Pfah! I don't need you to 'allow' me anything, you insolent-"

The half-breed vanished again before the dreadlord could fully convey his displeasure. He cursed loudly, then landed again in a crouch and crossed his arms. Truthfully, if he wasn't _allowed_ - he spat at the thought - to leave this place, it would be many days before he could gather enough strength to open a portal and leave on his own. Then, there was little else to do but wait until the halfbreed or whoever their 'chosen' were would deign to show themselves...

The thought of what would happen to them was enough to lift the dreadlord's spirits once more.

**6.**

They were winning! By the Sun, they were actually _winning!_ Gathios had hoped for such a victory for a long, _long_ time, and now, it was happening all around him. Had he not been at the forefront of the assault, he would have surely pinched himself to make sure that his troubled mind wasn't tormenting him with visions of what could have been. His men were fighting with commendable dedication. It was only a matter of time now. The Scryers would have no choice but to either surrender or be slaughtered down to the last man.

Without warning, a Scryer charged Gathios from the side. He smirked as he stepped back, dodging his clumsy blows easily, and swung his own mace in a wide arc, the blow strong enough to fling the hapless attacker back, arms flailing. The mace rose and fell one more time with a sickening sound of crushed bone and sinew. Gathios winced even as he raised his mace again and scanned the battlefield. The Scryers certainly didn't look like they were considering surrender.

Slaughter it was, then.

Gathios forced away any thoughts of remorse or pity. He found another opponent before long, a paladin by the looks of her. They traded a few blows and, to his surprise, the general found that they were evenly matched. Not only that, but something about her stance felt eerily familiar. They'd fought before. He _knew_ her. After a moment he remembered her name, too: Solanna Evenstar. They'd trained together in Silvermoon, and they'd been among the first to don the Blood Knight tabard and pledge their newly-found powers to prince and country and the betterment of their race.

Solanna's eyes narrowed. She'd recognized him as well, but whatever feelings of loyalty or comradeship they may have shared were probably long gone. She dodged his strike, then countered with a powerful swing of her own. Gathios couldn't defend himself in time and the blow knocked the air out of his lungs even with the thick armor he wore. He barely recovered in time to parry her next swing. They strained against each other for a few moments, their faces inches apart, until finally Gathios managed to push her back. He swung at her again, but Solanna deflected the attack with ease.

Gathios became aware that he wouldn't win this so easily and began to summon the Light to his aid. It came as it was bidden, infusing his weapon with its its power and making it glow fiercely in the gloom.

Solanna seemed hardly impressed at the display. She made a small gesture and the Light enveloped not only her weapon, but her entire body as well.

Gathios felt a pang of fear begin to trickle into his mind. Solanna had always bested him when they sparred... and now, she radiated with power such as he'd never seen before. But then, he reminded himself sharply, even the Light was only magic, and like any magic, it didn't need the conscience of any 'higher being' to guide it when it could be bent so easily to one's will. Was this the power of the Naaru?

Solanna was pressing her own attacks with unbridled fury now, and it was all he could do to hold his ground against her. Before long, she managed to land another blow in the same place as before. His armor crumpled like paper and he felt the blunt edge bury itself deep into his shoulder. He fell backward and hit the ground hard, struggling to breathe and willing the Light to keep him shielded from the blow he knew was coming... but the Light didn't answer his call this time. For an instant, Solanna towered over him, mace raised. He closed his eyes, waiting, hoping it would at least be over quickly...

The blow never came. His eyes snapped open and he saw Solanna's body crumple to the ground instead, nearly without a sound. He barely caught a glimpse of a sword that half stuck out of her back. He felt like he was going to be sick then, though he couldn't tell whether it was from relief or... or something else, something that he very pointedly chose not to think about.

"General? Sir? Are you all right?"

Gathios looked up at the Sunfury who had addressed him. Too young to have been properly trained, and also without a sword. This was his rescuer, then. "I'm fine," he growled as he climbed to his feet, doing his best to ignore the searing pain in his shoulder. He looked around and demanded, "What's the situation?"

The other Sunfury saluted. "There's only a handful of them left. We've already taken a few prisoners, but many have yet to surrender-"

"Kill them all," Gathios said quietly. He looked to where Solanna had fallen. She needn't have died like this. _Not like this._

"Sir...?"

"Kill them all!" Gathios bellowed. He tore his gaze away with an effort and fixed it on the trembling man before him. "I want them dead! Every single one of them! Do you hear me? _Dead!_"

The Sunfury saluted and hurried away. Gathios shook his head. Victory was near, but there was no cheering or taunting, such as it usually happened on such occasions. Those who had no-one left to fight stood or slumped in place, avoiding to look to where the few remaining Scryers – barely a dozen now – made their last stand. It would all be over soon, and the Sunfury would be better for it. Given time, the rest of his men would realize it, too.

As if answering his thoughts, several battle horns sounded at once. He smirked. So, they had come to their senses at last-

It was only a few moments later that Gathios realized the sound had come from behind. And by then, it was already too late.

**7.**

Vaala suspected that she'd be faced with yet another test soon, and so she'd taken great care in mending the holes and tears in her armor and checking every clasp to make sure that it held. Her swords were sharp and each blade was coated in the strongest poisons she could find. The throwing daggers she carried were each secured in their respective sheathes and carefully concealed from sight. When the summons finally came, she was long since ready for it... but, instead of being greeted by the familiar sight of the temple summit, Vaala found herself in a narrow stone corridor lit by flickering braziers on either side.

"What do you want me to do?" Vaala asked warily, not at all happy with this new and unexpected development.

There was a brief pause, then, _You will see. And you will prevail, I'm sure. _

Vaala rolled her eyes. "You'd think I knew better than to ask by now," she said, to no-one in particular. Then, with no other choices in sight, she began to creep along the corridor, eyes alert for anything that may have been out of place. Her surroundings were deathly silent apart from the sound of her own footsteps. The air was still, but there was a hint of an unusual odor that drifted from somewhere up ahead...

It was the scent of death.

Vaala slowed her walk and drew her swords, taking comfort in their familiar weight. A few paces ahead, the corridor branched in two directions. The passage on the right was a dead end. The one on the left opened into a large, vaulted chamber. Cautiously, she peered inside.

The first thing she saw were the bodies. They wore the dark violet robes of warlocks, and they looked like they'd been struck down as they tried to flee. Their expressions were terrible to behold. Around them lay broken reagents and... yes, there were the remains of a ceremonial circle, barely registering to her magical senses, but still in place.

"So, you deign to show yourself at last..."

Vaala gripped her swords tighter. "Come out where I can see you," she demanded, managing to sound confident enough despite the sudden dread she felt.

"As you wish..."

Briefly, Vaala caught sight of a looming shadow floating directly above where the circle had been... Her mind took a moment to put a name to the sinister shape. "Dreadlord!" she gasped

The unseen presence laughed. Then, everything turned black.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Author's Note:**_

_Apologies for the long wait. Some pretty major things happened out of the blue and I've had to deal with them for the past month or so. Will try to get back to updating regularly, but I can't make any promises just yet. As always, thanks for reading, faving and reviewing. Love you guys! _

_Also in the news, demons are tricky to write, and demon hunter lore is even trickier even with all the Wowpedia references. Dammit, Blizz! (Re-written as of 5/1)  
_

**1.**

Vaala took a few hurried steps back, then crouched against a wall and closed her eyes. Her heart thundered in her chest. This was no test... this was nothing short of a death sentence! She'd seen this kind of demon before and she knew full well what it could do. How could Illidan even _think_ she'd stand a chance against a dreadlord of all things? Had he _truly _gone mad?

The unseen demon was still laughing. The sound chilled to the bone. There was no telling where the voice was coming from. It seemed to vibrate all around her.

"You fear me, do you not?" the dreadlord taunted. "If you throw down your weapons, I might kill you quickly. Then again, I might not. Who knows...?"

Vaala opened her eyes. She peered around, using what little light spilled from the tunnels that adjoined the chamber to try and see by and relying on her magical senses - such as they were - for added clarity. For a few moments, everything around her was utterly still...

Then, in the darkness, something stirred.

Vaala moved quickly, but the silhouette she'd barely caught a glimpse of a mere moment before was no longer there. She spun around, swords raised, eyes searching frantically for what she knew was lurking not too far away. And sure enough, there he stood, a shadow darker than black, wings outstretched and looking as though he were ready to strike... yet oddly motionless for one who undoubtedly commanded a kind of power far surpassing her own.

Vaala narrowed her eyes. This wasn't right. A dreadlord, she knew, would hardly ever favor brute force. Their kind fought with other means, and mind games were highly favor among those. Surely, this was just an illusion, nothing more than a hallucination meant to coax her into spending her strength.

"What's the matter?" mocked a hoarse whisper from somewhere nearby. "Aren't you going to strike me down?"

Vaala felt a chill down her spine, but she didn't turn. Instead, she cast a spell. Green flames rose around her, then spread in all four directions, some reaching all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. The darkness melted before them, but the dreadlord wasn't revealed even though Vaala could still sense his presence nearby, in the same way that she felt Illidan's own aura when he was close. He was watching... waiting... biding his time...

Something else was moving now. Vaala stood her ground, watching in horror as one by one, the dead warlocks that Vaala had all but forgotten about began to twitch, and then they rose to their feet with unnatural, jerky movements. Their empty eyes focused on her slowly and with terrible purpose. Their lips were moving, but no sounds escaped them.

The first warlock fell before he ever had the chance to finish whatever spell he was casting, his head loped clean off his shoulders by a quick strike. Vaala felt her stomach turn even as she realized that the man couldn't have possibly been alive to feel the pain anymore. She kicked the crumpling body towards several other reanimated casters, then barely had time to dive out of the way as a long, thin ribbon of energy seared overhead and exploded in a flurry of sparks and dislodged masonry against one of the farther walls.

More spells failed to reach their target as Vaala danced around the casters, hacking and slashing as she went with a speed they could never hope to match. As she did away with the last one of them, she felt a grim sense of satisfaction. The benefits of the past weeks of harsh training were only just beginning to show. She felt tired, but only slightly so. The motions came naturally, and her concentration had improved to the point where she hardly had to envision where she would move to next.

Vaala let out a deep breath, and then she looked around once more. The flames she'd conjured earlier were all but spent. The bodies of her former enemies littered the floor, crippled enough that any other attempt to reanimate them would hardly produce anything capable to stand and fight. The dreadlord was nowhere to be seen, and briefly she thought to simply walk away. After all, there was no way she could fight something that wasn't there. Surely, Illidan would understand that-

As though sensing her distraction, the dreadlord chose that moment to strike. Vaala felt his claws rake across her back, shredding through the toughened leather of her armor as though it were lace or silk. She gritted her teeth against the sudden onslaught of pain and managed to bring one of her swords around, only to have her wrist caught in a vice-like grip.

Time slowed down to a trickle. Vaala saw the dreadlord's other hand move with impossible slowness, caught the reflection of the dying flames on his impossibly long and wicked-sharp claws, and knew that if they reached her, this fight would be over before it had even begun. Her free hand thrust up, blade poised and ready. A moment passed...

The dreadlord hardly winced as Vaala's sword embedded itself deep into his forearm. Vaala managed to wrench herself free of his grip and staggered back a few steps. She glanced down at her wrist. Her skin was charred where the dreadlord had touched it.

The dreadlord glared at her, then plucked the sword free and tossed it aside with a sneer. "You cannot hurt me, mortal," he drawled. "Succumb to your fate-"

"Like hell I will."

Vaala charged. As she came face to face with her opponent, she side-stepped and passed him, then turned around and struck. For all his toted power, the dreadlord was too slow to follow the movement this time. His armor covered most of his upper body, but it appeared to have been made for show more than anything and the protection it offered was by no means absolute. By the time he turned fully, Vaala had already managed to land a blow and withdraw. His claws ripped through nothing but empty air.

Vaala didn't waste any time on pointless bragging. She held out her free hand, and the sword she'd lost earlier spun through the air and landed in her grip. Fully armed now, she attacked once more. Even with the injury the dreadlord had inflicted, she still the advantage of her uncanny agility and speed for a time still. However, the dreadlord vanished in a swirl of shadows and reappeared farther away, glowering at her as if he dared her to follow. She swore under her breath. The gashes along her back burned with each move she made, sending wave after wave of mind-numbing pain through her body. She tried to ignore it. There would be time for that later... if there was any 'later' to be had, at all.

As Vaala readied her next attack, the dreadlord clenched his fists and uttered something in his own demonic tongue. Suddenly, the air grew thick and heavy. Vaala felt something tighten around her throat, but when she tried to pry it away, she found that there was nothing there. The grip tightened slowly, as though the dreadlord was enjoying seeing his prey squirm. Vaala sank to her knees as she gasped for breath. The swords dropped from her limp fingers and clattered to the ground.

**2.**

No one could have foreseen the Aldor arriving on the field of battle moments before the Sunfury would claim absolute victory. And no one, not even Gathios himself, could have ever imagined that they'd be forced to lay down their weapons lest they would all be struck down where they stood. The tables had been turned so quickly that, for a few agonizing moments, it looked as though the massacre would be absolute. Gathios had found himself surrounded and disarmed before he'd ever had a chance to call out for retreat. Those closest to him were already dead. Others had fled in terror. A few had made a desperate last stand and been slain there and then. But most of the Sunfury had simply lowered their weapons and flung themselves at the mercy of the Aldor.

The Sunfury had been rounded up immediately after. Those who had yet to relinquish their weapons had been disarmed with little ceremony. There were a fair few wounded, and only one remaining cleric to tend to them all. She went about her business with a sort of single-mindedness born out of desperation even after it became obvious that she was all but spent herself. None of the Aldor anchorites moved to relieve her burden.

Gathios stood a small distance from his men, avoiding to look any of them in the eye for fear of what he may find there. It had all happened too damn _fast_. There was nothing, _nothing_ he could have done to save them - and yet, the guilt of what had happened was almost too much to bear.

After a while, the circle of draenei surrounding the captive Sunfury parted to let several Scryers through. One of them in particular stood out from the rest, a tall, well-built man clad in dark plate armor. Gathios knew the man, and now he glared at him with unbridled hatred. Commander Hobb held his gaze levelly and he made small a gesture. As one, the Aldor backed away, until they were close enough to intervene should the circumstances demand it yet far enough to allow for some semblance of privacy.

"There has been some debate as to what to do with you and your men," Hobb said without preamble. "Many of my soldiers are eager to show you the same kind of mercy you had in store for us."

There were angry mutters among the Sunfury. Several of the wounded got to their feet, some having to lean heavily on their comrades for support. The Aldor shuffled imperceptibly closer, some reaching for their weapons. Gathios felt his heart skip a beat. If they thought to charge the draenei with nothing but fists and harsh words, it was pathetically obvious that they were all going to die. "Slaughtering unarmed prisoners?" he said icily despite the sudden dread he felt. "How very fitting for a band of _traitors!_"

"We have decided to allow you will to reclaim your weapons and leave," Hobb went on, letting the interruption slide. "If it is your wish, then we will also see to your dead and those too wounded to return, and I can assure you that they will be treated with consideration and respect. However, if you think to double back and attack us again, then we will stop you before you ever have the chance."

Gathios received the news with barely a twitch of his long eyebrows. "You will allow us freedom, just like that? Forgive me if I don't believe in your supposed 'kindness'. Lest you forget, you were the ones who attacked our master in the first place, long before this day."

"This is neither the place nor the time to discuss such things. As I said before, we are prepared to let you go... on one condition. Upon your return, you will deliver a message to Illidan Stormrage. That is all we ask."

Gathios narrowed his eyes. "And what would that message be?"

"You will tell him that the Sha'tar are prepared to offer him amnesty if he agrees to leave the temple - and this world - and never return."

The words hung in the air for several moments. "Lord Illidan will never agree to that," Gathios said finally.

"Be that as it may," Hobb replied with a hint of impatience, "but there is no need for more lives to be lost on this day. Wouldn't you agree, general?"

Gathios struggled to swallow past a suddenly dry throat. He saw reason in that, but he also knew what would happen to anyone who brought such a preposterous message to Illidan. "Your demands will be passed along, commander," he said quietly, even though he scarcely believed it.

Hobb nodded his head gravely. "Very well."

"One more thing," another Scryer, a magister in blood-stained robes, said suddenly. He gestured to the Sunfury and continued, "If any of you are tired of this... this senseless slaughter between our people... then we will offer you sanctuary and a safe return to Shattrath. You only need ask. With your permission, commander," he added as an afterthought.

Gathios didn't miss the way Hobb flinched at the offer, but he didn't waste any time wondering what had happened between the two. Part of him knew that, had he been a simple soldier and not a general, he would have probably accepted such an offer, and readily at that. As it were, he still had a duty to his men... and to Illidan, who would track him down to the Nether and beyond if he so much as dared to express such a thought. He was glad, at least – in a twisted, perverse sort of way – that none of his remaining soldiers took the offer. "My men are loyal," he said simply. '_Come what may_,' he added to himself with a bitter smile.

The Scryer magister bowed his head and said nothing more.

**3.**

Vaala forced herself to think even as the edges of her vision began to blur. This was a different kind of spell than she was used to facing... a_ curse. _Illidan had shown her how to contain such an attack during one of their first training sessions. She fought back the mind-numbing fear that threatened to overcome her and struggled to remember. He hadn't been the most patient of mentors, and Vaala herself had never truly managed to excel at anything but swordsmanship. What was it that he'd told her back then? It had something to do with magic... that it could be turned and bent if one was strong enough. If not, then there was one other thing that one could do to ward themselves...

_A ward... _Yes, that was it. A barrier made not of magic, but of the utter _lack _of magic, a void that could absorb any other harmful spells for a time... With agonizing slowness, the words of power began to form in Vaala's mind. The pressure lessened somewhat, enough for her to take a few quick, shallow breaths. The ward was hardly strong enough to do anything more, but for now, that was enough.

If anything, the dreadlord seemed amused by this new turn of events. He watched with a nonchalant expression as Vaala retrieved her swords and shakily climbed to her feet, grimacing as the gashes he'd inflicted previously tore open once again with the motion. She turned her thoughts away from the pain and willed her mind into a state of calmness. Let him underestimate her for now. Soon enough, the tables would turn. She could feel the gem she wore underneath her armor grow warmer and throb almost as if in anticipation, and she opened herself to it, channeling power from the great beyond as she had been taught. The ward around her grew stronger, absorbing the last remnants of the curse. Liberated, Vaala took a deep breath and forced a confident smirk to her lips. She could see her surroundings with much more clarity now, and she knew it to be part of what the demonic empowerment offered.

The dreadlord cast another curse, but this time, the ward not only held, but abated the magical onslaught altogether. For the first time, the demon appeared uncertain at such a turn of events. Taking advantage of that, Vaala went at him again, moving even faster than before. She landed a few blows in quick succession and pressed on even as the wounds she inflicted began to mend. The dreadlord swung at her, but his movements appeared slow and clumsy to her eyes. She was always one heartbeat ahead of him, striking and dodging only to whirl around and strike again. It wasn't long before the dreadlord was forced to take a step back, then another, and finally leap high in the air and remain there, his wings beating furiously to keep him aloft. He glowered at her, hands glowing as he began a chant.

Vaala smirked. This was the moment she'd been waiting for. The dreadlord thought himself safely out of her reach, for now, but the distance was hardly an impediment for what she had in mind. In one quick motion, she pulled a slim dagger out of its concealed sheath, took aim and let it fly. A split second later, the dreadlord shrieked in pain, a piercing, otherworldly cry that made Vaala's hairs stand on their ends. The dagger had pierced his throat, just as she'd intended it to. There was only one other thing left to do now. Vaala tensed, then leaped, using a protruding stone in the wall to boost her jump. She arched in the air and brought her swords down...

...but once again, she sliced through nothing but shadow.

Vaala landed in a crouch. Her enhanced vision found a trace of magic where the dreadlord had been and followed it to the farthest corner of the chamber. She saw him outlined in a halo of purple magic, dagger in hand, eyes filled with murderous intent. He spoke, not in the loud, arrogant voice he'd used before, but in a hate-filled whisper. "_You will pay for this insolence..._"

Vaala began to close the distance between them, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until she broke into a run. She ducked as the dreadlord's claws swept overhead, then straightened up, swords ready, and sliced with all her might.

The dreadlord stumbled backward, one hand flying to his throat, his face a mask of utter disbelief. A second later, his head rolled off his shoulders and his body crumpled forward and gradually disappeared into a shadowy mist until only the giant armor remained.

Vaala sank to her knees, panting heavily. The rush of adrenaline was slowly seeping away. Her body ached and she felt a fresh trickle of blood down her back. She felt cold, so cold that her body shook and her teeth clattered. She reached up with trembling fingers and grasped the medallion. Even nearly depleted as it was, it still responded to her touch. "My lord..." she whispered hoarsely. "It is done."

_Very well_, came the answer a moment later. _You may rest now_. _I will ensure that you are properly rewarded._

True to Illidan's words, Vaala began to feel a pleasant numbness creeping into her body. Part of her welcomed it after such a trying ordeal. The pain became a faint, distant sensation at the back of her mind, but there was also a small, nagging voice that warned her the day was far from over and something else, something _dreadful_ was about to happen. "What..." was all she could whisper before the numbness overcame her and she knew no more.

**4.**

In the aftermath of the battle, Reevan had been quick to excuse himself and take refuge in his small study while the Aldor and Scryers busied themselves tending to the wounded and clearing out the bodies of the dead. There was plenty of work to be done after such an ordeal, but somehow he could hardly bring himself to it. Things had been clear to him a mere few hours before. But now, caught between his duties and a deeper, far more demanding loyalty not only to his one surviving kin, but also to his people – _all _of his people, Scryer and Sunfury alike – Reevan could only wonder how the sheer absurdity of this war had eluded him for so long. The sin'dorei should have never been forced to take up arms against each other. That much, he knew with all his heart.

The memories of the earlier carnage were still fresh in his mind, and one thought in particular kept coming back with such intensity that it almost physically _hurt_.

_It could have been her..._

Reevan looked up in surprise when he heard someone call his name. Whoever the visitor was, he hadn't noticed them entering his study. He realized he'd been crumpling a piece of parchment in one hand and he tossed it aside with a frown, but then his expression softened when he saw Andurien. The smile that usually greeted the sight of his old friend didn't come so easily this time. "I take it the wounded have all been taken care of, then?" he asked, weariness creeping into his voice despite his efforts to contain it.

Andurien nodded his head wearily. "Those that we could save, yes. We are arranging for the others to be given an appropriate resting place... but, as you know, that may prove to be difficult out here. There are more bodies than we can bury without overtaxing our magisters, and we have nothing to cover the graves with other than dirt. A grim business if I ever saw one, I must say."

A few moments passed in silence as both men contemplated what that meant.

"You seem troubled by something," Andurien said eventually.

Reevan somehow found the strength to give a weary shrug. "Had there not been for the Aldor, we would all be dead. Is that not enough?"

"Not for one such as you," Andurien replied, folding his arms. "What is it that _truly _pains you, old friend?"

Reevan looked up, all traces of pretense gone from one moment to the next. "I... can't do this anymore," he said, and his voice was pained. "All this... this..." He took a deep breath, struggling to compose himself. "Some of those Sunfury were people I knew... people I stood and fought beside in many battles long before Shattrath. This shouldn't have happened. They needn't have died like this!"

"Indeed, many lives were lost today," Andurien agreed solemnly. "I, for one, take solace in the thought that everything will be over soon. In the meantime, however, it falls to us to do what we must."

"What we must?" Reevan yelled suddenly, bringing his fist down on the desk before him. "_What we must?_ What if my sister will be leading their next attack? What am I do to _then?_"

Andurien chose his next words carefully. "Isn't it pointless to dwell on it when you know nothing of her fate?" he asked.

"Oh, I know her... fate." Reevan lowered his voice to a whisper, "I saw her. She is alive and well - in fact, she's better off than I would have thought possible under the circumstances."

"You _saw_ her?" Andurien asked, obviously finding such a notion hard to believe. "How did it happen? _When?_"

"After our return from Shattrath," Reevan said quietly.

Andurien gave a small start, "Ah. I was wondering where you'd gone off to. She called you out somewhere, then?"

"No, I... I went into the Black Temple." Suddenly, he flared. "It was a foolish thing to do, but I needed to _know!_ It was obvious to me that she couldn't leave on her own accord, that she is _clearly_ a captive in spite of her claims! Illidan is training her... _changing _her into something he can use against us when the time comes. And... there is nothing I can do for her... _nothing_..."

"There is." A pause, then, "You can fight."

Reevan looked up in anger. "Haven't I just said I didn't want to do this anymore? What comfort could I gain from-"

"Must I spell it out for you, Reevan?" Andurien cut in, impatience finally getting the best of him. "The sooner we end this war, the sooner you can _save _her! Without Illidan to hold her under his sway, she will have no choice but to return to us! Isn't that what you want?"

"And what if I must fight her before that? What then?"

Andurien took a deep breath. He didn't want to say it, but he had no other choice. "If it comes to that... then you will do as your loyalties demand."

Reevan closed his eyes. He knew what Andurien meant, and his mind could only recoil in horror at the thought. "I will not," he said fiercely. "I will find another way."

"Then I pray that you find it soon," Andurien said darkly, "for otherwise, you put not only her life at risk, but yours as well."

Reevan stood up slowly, feeling the fatigue that had been dogging him since before the battle begin to take its toll anew. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly even as he began to glimpse another truth, one that he had flat-out refused to consider until now.

"What you did was foolish, as you said yourself, but I can understand it. Others, however, may see it as consorting with the enemy and nothing more."

"The enemy? She isn't-"

"Not to you, perhaps."

These were Andurien's parting words, and Reevan did nothing to stop him as he turned and left. Alone once more, the magister began to pace, wondering for a moment if he was indeed foolish to have taken on such a risky endeavor. Yet even as he did so, he felt hope stir anew. He would find a way to save his sister and damn the Scryers if they stood in his way. There was still time. There _had_ to be.

**5.**

The pain was gone.

Vaala realized this even before she became fully aware that she was awake. She could hardly remember whatever dreams had visited her this time. She kept her eyes closed as memories began to trickle back into her awareness. The dead warlocks... the dreadlord... Illidan's test... Had all that truly happened? The pain, at least, had almost felt _too _real...

_You needn't worry about your wounds. They have been taken care of while you slept._

Vaala opened her eyes and sat upright as she heard the voice. A moment later, she closed them again with a groan as the world struck her in a cacophony of mismatched colors and slithering tendrils of raw magic. It was the sort of vision that a brief demonic empowerment would offer, only it was stronger and more viral than ever before. She touched her eyelids gingerly, finding no trace of any alteration. That, at least, was a relief.

_Your sight will return to the way it used to be soon, given time_, Illidan said, as though sensing her distress.

Vaala opened her eyes again and kept them trained firmly ahead, having to fight down a sudden wave of sickness. '_The sooner, the better_, she thought sullenly.

_I was most pleased to see you succeed, _Illidan went on._ In doing so, you have furthered your training far more than I had ever hoped you would. I'm certain you've heard that of the other sin'dorei who've done this before, only one was strong enough to walk away with his body and his sanity intact-_

"Varedis," Vaala breathed out, remembering the blood elf demon hunter whom she'd encountered in what felt like another lifetime. She tried to remember him, but the images she could summon were vague and distorted, as were the memories of that day.

_Precisely. Three others were slain by their demons, and one had to be sent away after he lost his sanity. __You are stronger and far more resilient than they ever were, of course. I trust you will be able to fully wield the power of the demon you have vanquished on this day._

It took a few moments for the true meaning of the words to sink in."What do you mean?"

_You will learn it when the time is right. _

Vaala clenched her fists. "No more secrets!" she shouted with a vehemency that surprised her. "I almost died back there, and I want to know what _for!_"

There was no reply. Seething, Vaala leaned back and closed her eyes. "Damn you," she whispered, and for once she didn't care if Illidan heard her or not.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's Note:**_

_Looks like I'll be able to update once every other week, and that, at least, I can promise. Sorry! College life is a real pain =.=# _

_This chapter is dedicated to all my reviewers. Thanks for sticking with the story, guys and gals! (Re-written as of 5/6)  
_

**1.**

The inner gardens that Lady Malande and her acolytes tended to were truly a sight to behold. Seeds brought over from all around Azeroth had been carefully planted and nourished to full growth through a mixture of magic and natural means. No sunlight reached here, of course, but enchanted orbs drifted lazily overhead, brightening or dimming in a semblance of Azeroth's natural cycle. There was grass underfoot, and trees reached all the way to the ceiling. Alleys paved with rough stones crisscrossed the garden in seemingly random patterns. In one corner, a small stream cascaded in an artificial waterfall. Apart from the one sound, the place was silent.

Lady Malande often came here to clear her thoughts when the burden one of her status would inevitably attain became too much to bear. Lately, though, she hardly found any time to meditate as her responsibilities were becoming ever more demanding. An increasing number of sin'dorei came to her seeking a kind of solace that she wasn't certain she could give anymore. Despite being a firm believer in the Light and a dedicated follower of its ways, Malande was beginning to feel overwhelmed. She listened to those who sought council or relief and offered her blessings where they were needed, but at the end of the day, she often found herself wondering whether any of it mattered at all.

Tonight – if one was to take into account that the orbs were dimmed and many flowers were closed, it was nighttime in this place – she was set to meet with yet another weary soul. She heard his footsteps now, loud and confident, and she took a moment to compose herself before walking out to meet him. Gathios the Shatterer bowed stiffly when he saw her, though the need for such formalities between them had long since passed. He was unarmed, as Malande had requested, and wore simple black robes rather than his customary armor. Even so, he looked imposing, towering easily over the priestess. "Thank you for seeing me," he said after she bowed in return.

"Always a pleasure," Malande answered, and this was true. Gathios, at least, was an honest man. With Zerevor it was always hard to know where she stood, and Veras was, all things considered, far less pleasant company than the other two.

They began to walk in silence, side by side, avoiding to look each other in the eye at first. It was Malande who spoke finally, "What did you want to talk about?"

Gathios took a moment to answer. "You... know what happened at the Sanctum of the Stars, yes?"

"I do."

"Then you know that the Scryers have offered amnesty to any who would seek it. I would never consider such a thing, of course," he added, perhaps a bit too hurriedly.

Malande smiled placidly, "Of course."

"However, I believe some of my men are... not that steadfast in their resolve," Gathios resumed, and his tone made it clear what he meant by that. "People are vanishing without a trace. Scouts aren't returning from their patrols. Worse, even, word of this is spreading. We've had deserters before, but this time, I fear that our numbers will be thinned out so much we'll hardly be able to call ourselves a faction anymore."

"There has been... some unrest, yes," Malande said guardedly. "Truth be told, I find it hard to inspire others when all I have to offer is the assumption that somehow, somewhere along the way, everything will simply fall into place and we will be given everything that we were promised. I believe-"

"We will not live to see such a time," came a voice from somewhere nearby.

Both elves looked around in surprise. Gathios reached for his mace before remembering he'd left it elsewhere, as he'd been asked to do. He swore under his breath.

Veras Darkshadow stepped into view, fully armed and looking more unnerved than either of the two had ever seen him before. Malande relaxed slightly. Gathios, for his part, kept his eyes firmly trained on the rogue. What little trust he'd held for Veras was all but gone after his outburst at the latest Council gathering.

"Whatever Illidan had in mind for his 'mighty' army" - Veras said the words with obvious disdain - "it may very well be too late now."

"What do you mean by that?" Gathios asked, eyes narrowing down to slits.

"I've just returned from the gates," Veras answered in the resigned voice of someone who'd come to terms with their fate. "It would appear that we are under siege. The outer terraces have already been taken by the enemy. They left none of our own alive."

Malande gasped. Next to her, Gathios staggered as though he'd been hit by an invisible blow. "Impossible!" he managed.

Veras shrugged with infuriating nonchalance. "Go see for yourself, then," he said. "I doubt they'll be going away anytime soon."

Underneath the initial shock, Gathios's military mind stepped up and took control. "How many? We can still-"

"_Too_ many, Gathios. There's hardly enough of us left to make a difference. Whatever you try, you'd be overwhelmed as soon as you step out on the battlefield."

"Does lord Illidan know?" Malande asked in a small voice.

Veras bit his lower lip. "Doubtful, I'd say. Who would be stupid enough to be the bearer of such news?" He waved a hand irritably, "Certainly not I!"

A few moments passed in silence, broken only by the sounds of the nearby waterfall.

"I'll do it," Gathios said quietly.

"You're mad!"

Gathios glared at the rogue, then turned to Malande and offered her a pained smile. "If we're as good as dead, I might as well," he said with a dry chuckle. "In the meantime, find Zerevor and let him know. His casters might be able to pick some of them off from the battlements."

It was a useless, desperate thing to hope for, but at the moment, anything was better than doing nothing at all. The other two knew it as well. They parted ways, Malande going in search of the nethermancer while Veras went on to take care of his shady affairs. Gathios looked around once more, noting for the first time that these gardens were, indeed, beautiful. He made a note to himself to tell that to Malande the next time we met, then took a few deep breaths to calm himself and stalked off as well.

**2.**

The wind had picked up, a thing which was fairly unusual for this part of Outland. Here, at the temple summit, it was felt even stronger than elsewhere. It hardly bothered Illidan, of course. Whatever magic enshrouded him also served to divert a large proportion of the gales. On the other hand, Vaala didn't have such a luxury. She braced herself against the wind as best as she could, noting with passing curiosity that it wasn't nearly as much of a bother as it had been at other times. This day's training had been even more lengthy and demanding than usual, but oddly, she didn't feel as tired as she would have expected. Her sight, too, had returned to a semblance of normal, even though things still stood out in a way they had never done before.

"Your training is nearly complete," Illidan said, his voice easily carrying above the wind. "You have but a few steps left until you will reach your true potential."

Vaala bowed low, the pleasure of the sudden praise mixing with the apprehension the last phrase had brought forth. "Thank you, my lord," she said.

"I hope that you still remember everything you've learned so far on the subject of demonic magic, correct?"

Vaala thought about it for a few moments. "Demonic magic can hurt or heal, depending on who wields it and what their purpose is... much like the holy energies that priests and paladins use or the natural forces that a druid can channel," she answered cautiously, having to raise her voice slightly to make herself heard. "It can be gathered and stored in artifacts of-"

Illidan held up a hand, "Good. You have already seen one such artifact, have you not?"

Vaala nodded her head obediently. "The Skull of Gul'dan," she answered, the simple mention of the ancient relic enough to make her cringe a little. Some said that Illidan alone was strong enough to wield its full power. Others, far greater in number, claimed that its corruption had driven him insane. Whether the latter was true or not, Illidan hardly parted with the skull nowadays. Even now it rested on the ground not far away, and its empty sockets gave Vaala an eerie feeling that something was still in there, somewhere... _watching_.

"And as you know," Illidan spoke on, "it is precisely the energy of demons that empowers ones like you or me. The markings that you bear have already enhanced your magical abilities, but there is one other thing... Have I ever told you what happens to a demon once its mortal form has been defeated?"

Vaala snapped to attention at the unexpected question. "Its soul is drawn back into the Nether until such a time that it becomes powerful enough to either possess or manifest another physical incarnation and unless part or all of it is channeled into something else," she answered automatically, and for a brief moment she commended herself for remembering the explanation almost down to a letter.

Illidan seemed pleased with the answer as well. "Surely, you must be wondering why I test you so now," he asked suddenly.

There was no point in denying it. "I do. I _assumed_ you knew me well enough to know that I would remember all this without being questioned like an apprentice on their last day in Dalaran."

"I do trust your abilities, of course," Illidan answered, amused. "I merely wanted to make certain that you can fully understand what has happened to you."

"What happened to... What do you mean?" Vaala asked quietly, the apprehension from before mixed with a morbid kind of curiosity now. Part of her wanted to know the answer, yet she guessed rather than knew that she wouldn't like it.

"The demon that you faced was only part of the test. I have already told you that during his or her initiation, a demon hunter must defeat a powerful adversary in single combat. It is the ultimate test of one's worth."

Vaala nodded blankly. She knew that much.

"Should the demon fall," Illidan went on, "a portion of its lingering essence is trapped before it can find its way back to the Nether and bound to the one that slayed it. A demon hunter can only survive such a process if they are fully ready. Otherwise..."

The word hung in the air, revealing what could have happened if Vaala hadn't been 'ready' - whatever that meant. She felt every muscle in her body freeze, not because of the cold – which all of a sudden seemed like little more than a laughable distraction – but because of the implications of what had just been said.

"I watched everything through your eyes, and all the while I wondered whether I had prepared you enough for such a challenge," Illidan went on, oblivious to her distress. "But in the end, you managed to succeed. I say this to you truly - I was impressed. And I knew then that you would not only survive, but you would become stronger, faster... _better, _in every way. Being granted the very soul essence of the enemy you defeated is the ultimate gift, and a crucial step in becoming all that you can be."

Now that the initial shock was beginning to dim, Vaala wanted to yell and curse at her master and demand that he reverse whatever had been done to her - only, she realized, that would serve her no purpose now that the deed had been done. There would be time for regrets later. For now, she chose to channel her attention solely to the practical aspects of the situation at hand. "What will it do to me?" she asked.

"The energies you have absorbed are hardly enough to elicit any... drastic changes, for now," Illidan answered, likely guessing the unspoken part of her question. "Soon, however, you will become able to take on the aspect of..."

Illidan's voice trailed off and he stopped Vaala's next question with a gesture. "We are not alone," he said quietly. Then, in a louder voice, he commanded, "Approach!"

A lone blood elf stepped into view and immediately bowed low. Vaala knew him, although chances were that he didn't know her. Gathios the Shatterer had a haunted look about him and seemed reluctant to speak, even though he must have known that dragging things out would do little to help ease the weight of whatever he had come to say.

"Ah, Gathios," Illidan drawled. His demeanor had changed almost entirely. He looked bigger and far more menacing somehow, and Vaala understood now more than ever why most of his subjects feared him so. "What brings you here?"

To his credit, Gathios was fairly adept at hiding his fear. "I apologize for this intrusion, my lord," he said now with the appropriate amount of deference, "but there are matters that must be brought to your attention straight away."

"Well, what is it? Speak!"

Gathios swallowed thickly. "My lord... The... the gates are under siege."

Several seconds trickled by in utter silence, save for the howling of the wind. Then, inexplicably, Illidan tossed his head back and laughed. The sound was more unsettling than anything Vaala had ever heard before. It had the echoes of true madness in it.

Gathios's eyes darted to Vaala for the briefest of moments and she saw the dismay reflected in them. Nonetheless, he rallied enough to ask stoically, "What will you have us do?"

Illidan glared at the Sunfury general until he began to fidget. "If your track record is anything to go by, _general_," he said lightly, "then your Sunfury are best kept _away _from the conflict for a time, lest you get what few of them remain killed as well."

Gathios sagged visibly where he stood, as though the words had caused him physical pain. He said nothing.

"Did you think I would not know about your disastrous attack on the Scryers?" Illidan pressed, all traces of mockery gone. Next to him, Vaala's eyes widened at the news. "I have allowed you and your Council too much freedom, and thus far you have repaid it with nothing but disloyalty and failure."

"So you will have us do _nothing?_" Gathios blurted out in disbelief. "Granted, our numbers aren't enough to match up to the forces of the Sha'tar, but to sit idle while-"

"The forces _I _command are far superior to those of the Sha'tar," Illidan said forcefully. "The Sunfury are to remain in the upper tier while my demons deal with this affront. Is that understood?"

Gathios seemed on the verge of arguing, but then he pursed his lips and bowed once more. "As you command, _my lord_," he said, his tone making the last two words sound almost like an insult. "I will inform those manning the gates to withdraw and then seal off the upper tier. By your leave," he added woodenly, then departed.

Vaala stared after him with growing restlessness. "I'd best be on my way, too," she said quickly when Gathios had gone.

Her only answer was a swirl of magic that hardly came as a surprise. Illidan likely had other things to see, too now that the war had come to his very doorstep. She closed her eyes, bracing herself against the nauseating sensations that always accompanied this sort of spell. When she opened them again, she was in her chambers, alone.

_See to your brother, if that is your wish_.

Was it just an illusion, or had the words carried the smallest hint of concern? "I will, my lord," Vaala said quietly. "Thank you."

Illidan's presence receded without anything else. With a heavy sigh, Vaala collapsed on top of her bed and put a hand over her eyes. For a few moments she contemplated drifting off to sleep, if only to put her thoughts to rest for a few blessed hours. But even though the prospect was more than tempting, there was one other thing she needed to make sure of before she could allow herself to rest. With trembling fingers she reached under the torn, moldy mattress and pulled out a round object wrapped in black cloth.

"Reevan..." she whispered as she pulled the cloth aside, revealing the scrying orb that she had used to make contact with her brother before. "Please... _be alive_..."

**3.**

"They are arguing again," Reevan announced with a grimace as he entered the command tent he shared with several other high-ranking Scryer officers.

The other two Scryers present looked up from what they were doing with expressions of mild annoyance. One of them, a battlemage called Vyara Sunshatter, whom Reevan knew since his early days of studying the arcane arts, burst into a wild fit of laughter that wasn't entirely inappropriate under the circumstances. The other, a man also wearing caster's robes and who looked older than most, simply shook his head and shrugged.

"What is it this time?" Vyara asked when her mirth had subsided a little. "What color our banners should be?" She laughed again, indicating that she found the prospect to be irresistibly hilarious.

Reevan gave a weary sigh and sat down on one of the cushions strewn about the tent. "The generals agree that assaulting the gates head-on would be suicide... and, thus far, every attempt to breach whatever wards surround them has failed. Some of the Aldor appear to think that the failure rests solely with our inability to dispel these wards. They claim that this setback is our fault."

Vyara's eyes flared. "Our fault? _Our_ fault! _We_ did everything we could while the Aldor were busy fawning over their pet Naaru! And what has _he_ done up until now? _Nothing!_"

Reevan flinched a little at the shrillness of her voice. He held up a hand, demanding silence. "Anchorite Caalen of the Aldor spoke of a pact with the Ashtongue Broken, but said little else to back his claims."

"It stands to reason that the Broken would side with the Aldor," the other magister interjected. He spoke fast and gestured with obvious excitement, "I have done a fair bit of research on their history – well, what I could find, of course – and it would appear that the Broken are actually Draenei corrupted by some thing or another. It all happened a number of generations ago, and the decay has been progressive, until-"

"We know all _that_," Vyara interrupted, waving a hand with mild annoyance. "Well... maybe not in such great detail," she conceded when the magister shot her a disapproving glare. "But that still doesn't explain why the Broken would suddenly decide to help us instead of killing us like Illidan probably ordered them to do."

"And even assuming that were true, they can't really do much, given their current predicament," Reevan added thoughtfully. "From what I hear, most are worked to near-exhaustion in the nethercite mines, and Illidan keeps a close eye on those who serve inside the temple-"

"There's your reason, then, Vyara," the magister said flatly.

"Oh, but you forget the most important Broken there is," another voice intoned. A moment later, the tent flaps parted to reveal Commander Hobb, flanked by heavily-armored guards on either side. He looked tired, but incredibly pleased.

The other three Scryers rose to their feet quickly. Vyara brought her hand up in a half-hearted salute while the other two stood to attention. Hobb acknowledged them all with a nod and a half-smile, then gestured for his guards to wait outside and closed the flap behind him. "As always, your thoroughness is commendable, master Firehawk," he said, addressing the elderly magister who'd spoken so passionately about the Ashtongue. "And you, master Dawnstrike," he continued with a nod towards Reevan, "are up-to-date on every fact, just as one would expect."

"Not that it serves us much," Vyara pointed out dryly.

Reevan bristled a little, but kept his temper in check. "You were saying, commander?" he asked, letting the taunt slide for now.

Hobb's expression grew serious once again. "The Broken that Anchorite Caalen mentioned is the elder sage of the Ashtongue tribe. He calls himself Akama, and until recently he and a few others were charged with keeping watch over some prisoner of great importance held not far from here. I haven't spoken with him," he added hastily as Vyara opened her mouth to question him, "but from the way the Aldor speak _of_ him, I could tell that he was a man worthy of respect."

"And this 'Akama' will help us bring down the gates?" Vyara asked, one long eyebrow raised in obvious skepticism.

Hobb shrugged his shoulders once. "I couldn't say," he admitted. "This supposed pact between the Aldor and the Ashtongue has been kept in utter secrecy. The Anchorite fears that Illidan will suspect treachery and eliminate the sage before he can be of any use."

"It could be a trap," Reevan said darkly.

"Doubtful," the magister known as Firehawk answered before Hobb had time to react. "The Ashtongue have every reason to side with us and no reason at all to keep serving a master such as Illidan. If this pact indeed exists," he went on, turning to Hobb, "then I daresay that all of us are fortunate. The Broken as a people appear to be both resilient and honorable. I, for one, will not oppose trying whatever they come forth to offer us."

"Your enthusiasm is commendable," Hobb noted with just a hint of sarcasm. "However, there is little we can do but wait for-"

The words were suddenly cut off as a horn resounded just outside the tent. The sound was quickly picked up by others, and frightened voices rose above the commotion, calling for aid.

Hobb bit back a curse. "We'll worry about the Ashtongue later," he said before drawing his mace and rushing outside, with the other Scryers in tow.

**4.**

Vaala passed one hand over the orb, murmuring the proper incantation, then leaned back and watched the smooth surface intently. After a while, holding the orb in one hand, she brought up the other up to rub her forehead and she let out a frustrated sigh. She'd done it several times already, and with each failed attempt, her restlessness grew. She hadn't known of any attack on the Sanctum of the Stars, and even though Illidan had fully blamed Gathios for what must have been nothing short of a crushing defeat, she was still worried that Reevan had found a way to get himself hurt, or worse.

Suddenly, the orb she held began to throb with a different, stronger kind of magic. Vaala focused her attention on the artifact and watched with a mixture of impatience and relief as a shape began to distinguish itself from the mists swirling inside. "Thank the sun!" she gasped, even before the image fully came into view. "When I heard about the attack, I feared the worst..."

But the image she beheld moments later was not that of her brother, but of another man, slightly older and wearing priestly robes. Vaala recoiled instantly, shielding her face as best she could. "Who are you?" she demanded. "How did you find this artifact?"

The man took a few moments to reply. Clearly, the sudden contact had startled him as well. "I am a friend of Spymaster Dawnstrike," he said evenly. "He has been called away on other duties, but I will pass along any message you may have for him."

'Called away.' Inwardly, Vaala breathed a sigh of relief. "Where is he now?" she asked, a little more subdued now that she knew her brother was alive, at least.

"I couldn't say," came the answer. "He left for the gates with the bulk of the army not two days ago. They must have arrived by now."

"They did, but they'll never break through," Vaala said grimly. Only then, she realized that she had not only given away her position, but likely her identity as well. Whoever this priest was, Reevan probably held him in high regard to allow him possession of the orb. She hesitated only briefly, then added, "If you are indeed his friend, you'll find him and tell him to pull away. The gates cannot be breached, and Illidan has something terrible in store for the Sha'tar."

The priest considered this. "I'd ask if you know any other way in, but from what I hear, you've already chosen to side with the enemy, though Reevan wasn't too keen on letting me know exactly _why._ Surely you know it broke his heart to-"

Vaala's expression didn't change, even though inwardly she knew the priest was correct about that, at least. "I did what I had to do to stay alive, and my brother knows this."

The priest shook his head. "Then for your sake, if nothing else, I can only hope that you realize your folly before it's too late."

"Don't you _dare_ patronize me," Vaala hissed, but the connection had already been severed. She stared at the orb for several more seconds before tossing it aside, then took a few deep breaths and willed the sudden anger away.

The upper tier was probably sealed off by now, as per Illidan's request. There was no way to leave, and it would take a sorcerer of great power to breach the enchanted doorways. For the moment, all she could do was hope that Reevan would be wise enough to keep away from the heat of the battle or, at the very least, be wise enough to keep out of harm's way. With little else to do, she leaned back and tried to sleep. But sleep did not come so easily this time, and the thoughts that assaulted her mind were anything but pleasant. After a while, she got to her feet and began to pace.

**5.**

The sight that greeted Hobb and the others was far more dire than they had expected. A handful of satyr summoners had somehow managed to gain a foothold immediately outside the gates and open several portals to the Twisting Nether, and from there, they sent their pet demons in to harass the forces of the Sha'tar. The Aldor had been the first to rally after the initial confusion, with the Scryers joining them almost straight away. The Naaru, Xi'ri, was floating serenely above the battlefield, and his presence alone was enough to strengthen the will of those who fought closest to him. Their combined efforts were enough to hold the demons at bay, but where one monstrous enemy fell, another was there to take its place before long.

Hobb and Vyara were quick to join the fray, the former rushing to rally other skirmishers and reinforce the front lines while the latter directed a barrage of flaming orbs towards the demons at the back. Reevan stood in place, trying to assess the situation. There seemed no end to the hordes of creatures coming from the portals, but there was only a handful of summoners on either side of the gates, all channeling their energies to keep the rifts from folding unto themselves. A quick mental probing revealed a series of simple but sturdy enchantments warding off any potential harm. Until those enchantments were dispelled, there was little hope of disturbing the summoning rituals.

"We must destroy the portals!" Firehawk shouted above the din, as if guessing his thoughts. Vaguely, he pointed towards the nearest group of satyr, "We can start there!"

"There are wards in place," Reevan shouted back, shaking his head. "We must dismantle those first if we're to succeed."

"Do it! I'll be ready to strike as soon as-"

The rest of the phrase was lost as the sounds of battle escalated to new heights. Reevan nodded his head to show that he understood, then did his his best to concentrate as he directed his magical senses towards the summoners. The key to succeeding was to take the protective charms apart and give his companion a few precious seconds to cast a spell before the satyr realized what was going on. He had to be diligent, precise, and, above all, _quick_.

The first ward crumbled with deceptive easiness, likely little more than a decoy. Reevan grinned as he sought deeper, finding a second, more complex enchantment. He worked to undo it, wary of any traps that might have been concealed within the spell matrix. He found none, and the ward shimmered away.

The satyr worked on, unaware of the intrusion. Reevan felt his way around a third ward, one that made the other two look like an apprentice's work in comparison. He patiently felt his way around the spell, searching for the one thread that, once pulled, would cause the whole construction to unravel. The magical currents of Shadowmoon Valley, a considerable distraction at the best of times, were made even more erratic by the frantic spellcasting happening all around him, and with the added interference from the portals and Xi'ri's own extraordinary influence, Reevan found it increasingly hard to concentrate. After some excruciating minutes, the ward gave way.

Reevan opened his eyes, ready to shout the order to his companion and strengthen his spell if necessary. Immediately, his vision was filled by a stray doomguard who was rapidly descending towards him. Reevan barely had time to leap out of the way before the demon's massive polearm sliced through the place he'd been at a mere moment before. The doomguard sailed past, caught in the momentum, and before it could turn or defend itself, a large fireball hit it from behind. The creature fell to the ground, its cloven feet desperately seeking purchase on the uneven terrain before another fireball finished it off. Reevan spotted Vyara somewhere in the throng. She winked at him before turning her attention elsewhere. There was no sign of Firehawk, but looking back at the summoners, Reevan saw that several were now writhing on the ground, their bodies engulfed in fire and ice. Their portal was already reduced to nothing.

Other Scryers had likely been alerted to what had to be done because soon enough, a second group of satyr was taken out with equal precision, leaving only one more portal to be taken care of. At first, there was no visible change on the battlefield. It was only after a few more nerve-wrecking minutes that the combined forces of the Sha'tar finally began to drive the demons back, and it took far longer after the last portal was taken down to do away with the remaining fiends. When it was finally over, the rocky ground was slick with blood, and though there were far many more demons slain than Sha'tar, the hard-earned victory was little cause for celebration.

"We were too careless in approaching the gates thus," a woman wearing an anchorite's garb intoned sadly, shaking her head from side to side.

Next to her, Reevan straightened up and brushed dust and cinders off his robes. His temples throbbed and he felt dizzy after having expended so much of his energies. Still, he found enough strength to turn to the Aldor woman, put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and smile. "Our cause is just," he said, in a voice loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Sooner or later, we _will_ prevail." Then, his expression darkening, he added, in a near-whisper that only he and the anchorite could hear, "Though I fear that this was only the beginning."


	14. Chapter 14

_**Author's Note:**_

_My apologies for being late (again). I blame it on mid-terms this time. (Re-written as of 5/6)  
_

**1.**

Twice more the demons struck, and twice more the Sha'tar managed to repel them. Most of the fighting was happening in the space between the outer terraces and the main gates, with spellcasters from both factions struggling to gain purchase on higher ground and wreak havoc from there. Finally, after a deadlock that claimed more lives than any previous encounter, the demons withdrew altogether.

Next came a wave of Dragonmaw riders, raining fire and arrows down on the Sha'tar troops while flying too high for anything but a few stray spells to reach them. The Scryers hastened to raise a magical barrier, but not before several of their ranks fell, pierced by arrows or incinerated by flames. The Dragonmaw circled overhead several times before they, too, retreated.

Then came the silence.

By now, there were a fair number of wounded combatants that needed to be tended to. The priests and anchorites worked their magics to near-exhaustion in trying to save as many as they could, and even some of those who could not wield the Light did their part in binding smaller wounds or sharing conjured refreshments around.

Reevan had done all he could, until a very angry anchorite had sent him off to rest before dropping like a stone, and was now sitting on top of an upturned supply crate. Like most other spellcasters, he, too, felt drained. Sleep hours had been few and far between even before the assault, and even though several other Scryers had shamelessly snuck back to the tents to indulge in this momentary respite, Reevan hardly felt pressed to follow their example. Even so, he nodded off several times, awaking each time with a start and once nearly falling off the crate and face-first into the dirt. Eventually, he gave up and stood up, then took a few steps, feeling his joints and muscles ache in protest even at this supposedly trivial effort.

"You look like crap, Dawnstrike."

Reevan spun around, biting back a curse. Vyara had managed to sneak on him and was now standing on the crate he'd just left. Truthfully, she didn't look much better than he did. Her tabard had been reduced to a mere few rags dangling from her belt, and her armor was stained with blood and charred in several places. Her pale blonde hair, usually tied back in a neat ponytail, fell about her face in greasy clumps. Even so, her smug grin – one of the many things that made Reevan avoid her company whenever possible – was still there, and in the present circumstances, it made her look almost _mad_.

"Well?" Vyara pressed when Reevan said nothing. "Don't I deserve anything? A sharp rebuttal? A curse, perhaps?" She put her hands on her hips and pouted like an angry child, even though she was his senior by at least two decades.

"I have no time to bicker with the likes of you," Reevan snapped, weariness making him care little for civility. "In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of fighting a _war_."

"So far, we've been standing here looking like a bunch of fools while the Illidari picked us off one by one," Vyara said bitterly. "Hardly my idea of fighting a war."

"Least I recall, your own tactics weren't that much better," Reevan answered, drawn into the quarrel despite himself.

The grin was gone for an instant, then back and even more virulent than before. "Least _I_ recall, I was confined at the Sanctum of the Stars and had to use mercenaries to do the work for me. Never cared much for their types, to be sure."

Reevan's brows drew together in an annoyed grimace. The words stung, even though Vyara probably hadn't intended to have a go at Vaala, and much less at his fault in her precarious situation. Or had she? "I'm going to rest," he muttered wearily, "since, as you've so _kindly _pointed out, I appear to need it."

"I've been eavesdropping on the Aldor," Vyara hissed just as he turned and prepared to stalk off towards the tents and the refreshing near-solitude they would undoubtedly provide. "A thing that you, _spymaster, _apparently didn't bother to do."

Reevan paused long enough to glare at her. "There is nothing the Aldor know that we don't," he said testily.

Vyara arched her eyebrows in feigned surprise. "Oh, I beg your pardon. _So_, when were you going to tell _me_ that the mysterious Elder Sage finally deigned to come out of hiding and let us in on a little trick to get inside the temple?"

Reevan gaped at her, too startled to say anything right away. "A trick...?" he managed.

"Figured this would get your attention," Vyara said wickedly.

"If you have anything to say, then say it," Reevan snarled.

"Such a charmer." Vyara cleared her throat, not intimidated in the least by the glare she was given. "As you know, the gates are sealed with spells woven by Illidan himself. It would take us weeks or even _months_ to take them apart, and our commanders have wisely decided that we'll run out of soldiers and supplies long before that."

"That's not news."

Vyara tssk-ed. "We won't be _going_ through the gates," she said in the voice of someone chiding a small child. "Isn't it obvious?" When Reevan frowned at her, she continued, "Apparently, the terraces are hollow on the inside. Back in the day, that space was used to dump sewage and other... undesirable materials. All we have to do is blast our way through-"

"Hundreds of feet of rock, most likely," Reevan cut in with a sigh, "and that would take time, and power, and-"

"Three or four, actually. Five, if we're unlucky. It's all been laid out."

Reevan was silent for several moments as this last piece of information finally clicked into place. "How soon?" he asked, his voice strained.

Vyara shrugged, "I couldn't say. They kicked me out of my hiding place before I could hear that. She had the decency to look ashamed at that, at least. But only a little. "I suggest you go and get some rest while you can. There'll be no time for that once we make our move."

For once, Reevan could find nothing to disagree about. "You're right," he said reluctantly. "I will go and tell all this to Commander Hobb, then-"

"No need to. I went to him before I came to you." She leaned in to pat him on the arm, and Reevan couldn't help but flinch at the patronizing gesture. "Come. I'll walk you to your tent."

**2.**

Vaala stopped her pacing long enough to cross her arms, even though she knew that the display was useless since Illidan couldn't see it. She could feel him probing their link, and she reached back, annoyed. "Don't you have a war to fight?"

There was a dry chuckle, then, _All things in due time. _

"I don't understand you," Vaala said quietly. She had meant to ask certain questions for a long time now, and this moment was probably as good as any. "You have amassed a great army and put it to no use. You sat here brooding while all of your other strongholds fell and let your enemies surround your seat of power without so much as lifting an finger to stop them. Do you plan to do anything _at all_?"

_You... truly do not understand_, Illidan said after a few moments, and his disappointment was obvious.

"Then _make_ me understand, damn it!"

The answer came in the form of a powerful magical surge that made her surroundings spin, blur and turn on themselves in a flurry of distorted energies. Vaala cried out and shielded her eyes, her newly-altered sight giving a new dimension to the none-too-pleasant feeling of one's body being whisked away by magical means. As always, it took a while before the aftereffects of the spell wore off, and when they did, Vaala opened her eyes to find herself not at the temple summit, where she'd expected to appear, but somewhere far less pleasant instead. She'd taken notice in passing of the dislodged stone islands that drifted high above the valley. She was standing atop one of them now, close enough to the edge to catch a glimpse of the deadly drop below. The sight chilled her to the bone.

Vaala resisted the urge to back away and turned around slowly instead, doing her best to ignore a dreadful feeling that something was pulling her towards the abyss. When she saw that this particular platform was fairly large, she gratefully took a few steps towards the center and away from the drop, then took a few deep breaths to calm herself. "All right," she called out, her voice still shaky from before. "I'm all ears. _Explain._"

_Look across the valley. What do you see?_

Vaala groaned inwardly. With an effort, she turned and did as she was told, suppressing a shudder as her glance drifted momentarily downward. The temple was almost directly below, its denizens appearing like little more than moving dots. The open portions of the upper tiers were all but deserted. Farther away, in the gigantic front courtyard, the Fel Horde were trying – and failing – to form some kind of ranks.

And finally, beyond the gates, she saw the Sha'tar. They must have numbered in the hundreds, and more reinforcements were arriving even as she watched. Even without a way to batter down the gates, their presence meant that the Black Temple was effectively cut off from any possible help from the outside... even though, she realized, help was unlikely to arrive either way. The Dragonmaw had never fully recovered from their previous losses, and rumors had it that the other forces scattered across the valley had long since been overrun.

_Well?_

Vaala cleared her throat. "I _see _that we are in a hopeless situation, my lord. Unless you have a way... of..." She trailed off as another thought dawned. "You... wanted this to happen, didn't you," she said tentatively, and for whatever reason, she knew it to be true.

_I did count on it, yes. I am only surprised it took them this long to make their move. After all, why waste my time chasing them all over Draenor when I could simply wait for them to come to me instead? I believe you yourself have told me that my army is invincible here. It is precisely that theory that I intend to put to test._

The plan made sense, but the price it had come at was no less appalling. "At the cost of losing your other strongholds, then?"

_Those can be rebuilt. What matters is that I will soon have all of the Sha'tar within my grasp and, once I've dealt with them, there will be nothing to stop me in conquering the rest of this world. _

Vaala bit her lower lip. She could see reason in that, although at the same time she felt as though something vital was still amiss. She rubbed her temples, thinking furiously.

_It will likely take them a while to figure how to break the enchantments I placed in their path. I have no doubts that they will break through, in the end – and, when they do, my orcs will be there to meet them and everything will end. The Fel Horde is a formidable fighting machine, and they've had all the time to-_

Vaala snapped her fingers as the answer suddenly presented itself. It was so obvious that she took a moment to mentally chastise herself for having taken so long in figuring it out. "What makes you think they'll be coming through the gates?" she asked.

There was a moment of evident confusion, then, _I have made certain they cannot fly over the walls or gain entrance by magical means. That leaves only the gates. _

Vaala considered this. Illidan was over-confident, but he wasn't stupid. This new revelation made his earlier actions understandable, although pulling off a victory now would still be a tricky feat to accomplish. "So... what happens now?" she asked quietly.

_Now?_ Another chuckle came, more sinister this time. _Now... we wait..._

**3.**

"...And so I say, why wait? Why not simply throw open the gates and invite the enemy in? At least that way everything would be over quickly!"

The toad blinked one eye lazily, then croaked. Veras glared at it for a few seconds. At any other time, he might have felt ridiculous for pouring out his heart and soul to a critter of all things. But he was long since past the point of caring now. Shouting felt good, and the fact that there were no others around to hear made it even better. Not to mention toads didn't shout back.

"I should have left when I had the chance. Others did!" Veras sighed deeply, then took his head in his hands in a dramatic display of hopelessness. "Of course... it's too late for _that_ now..." he muttered miserably. "And of _course_, when the Sha'tar do get here, I won't be having the luxury to drop down on one knee and beg for mercy, because by then I'll already be dead."

The toad croaked again. It sounded almost mocking, in a way.

Veras clenched his fists. "Oh, _he'll_ make sure of that and no mistake. I barely managed to get away with my life last time, and only because he was distracted enough not to chase me. That won't happen twice. And I-"

Veras clamped his mouth shut abruptly. A certain sixth sense that he took great pride in told him that he was no longer alone. He turned around with enough slowness to conceal his puzzlement at someone having managed to come this close without him noticing. Seeing who it was hardly made things any better. "Hello, Zerevor," he said levelly. "Enjoying the show?"

The nethermancer gave a thin-lipped smile and his silhouette flickered a little. This was only a conjured image, then – a magical double that would allow the necromancer to more or less be in two places at once. Secretly, Veras felt relieved. Being snuck upon by something incorporeal was pardonable, at least.

"Gathios is setting up our defenses," the image of Zerevor said presently. "He asks that you to gather as many of your... agents... as you can, and meet up with him in the command room after."

Veras didn't miss the thinly-veiled distaste for what Zerevor probably saw as an occupation too crude for a blood elf to undertake. "Gathios can rest assured that my 'agents' will be where they are needed," he answered testily.

"And what do you intend to do? Will you simply hide in a corner and let others do your fighting for you, as is your custom?"

Veras felt his blood boil with indignation and just a little guilt. Not long before, he'd been contemplating doing just that, only to realize that he'd run out of corners to hide in sure enough. "That's none of your business now, is it," he snapped. "For that matter, what will _you_ do?"

Zerevor rubbed his chin, thinking. "I assume only a small fraction of the Sha'tar will make it to the upper tier at first. Regardless of their numbers, they still have the Fel Horde and scores of demons and Naga to break through before they can even reach our wards. They will be... manageable... for a time."

"And then what?"

Zerevor shrugged, and the image flickered again. "Think your worst," he said quizzically, then disappeared altogether.

Veras kept staring at the place his unexpected visitor had been standing at long after he'd gone. After a while, a toad croaked from somewhere behind him. It might have been the one from before, or a different one that had somehow found its way up here from the sewers. Suddenly, he grinned, then pulled a slim throwing dagger out of a hidden sheath and threw it without turning. A gargled noise let him know that he hadn't missed, and his grin widened. "Think my worst, he says..." he muttered as he began to walk away. "Well then. I might have to do _just that_."

**4.**

Reevan was still wide awake when a series of powerful blasts rocked the ground so hard that he felt the impact jolt every bone in his body. He sat up and covered his ears as another painfully loud explosion came from somewhere outside. Before he could do anything else, the flaps of the tent parted and Vyara rushed in, looking more flustered than Reevan had ever seen her. "They're doing it!" she announced, clapping her hands like a child.

"Well, _they _aren't being too subtle about it, are they," Reevan growled as Vyara hauled him up to his feet with little ceremony.

Vyara made a face. "It's not like we can simply ask several feet of solid rock to move out of the way, you know." She laughed her shrill, malicious laugh that somehow always seemed out of place.

Reevan shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the attempted humor. "That," he said, jerking his thumb towards the direction the blasts had come from, "is bound to get the attention of whoever guards the gates. If they figure out what we're up to-"

The rest of the sentence was lost in another blast, which was then followed by an eerie silence after the last echoes died out.

"I think that did it," Vyara said in a near-whisper, cocking her head to one side. Then, a little louder, she added, "Come on!" She rushed outside without bothering to see if he was following.

Reevan paused long enough to grab his staff and a satchel filled to the brim with reagents and other artifacts of power. He'd left his scrying orb back at the Sanctum of the Stars amidst the confusion of the last few days, and even now he regretted it. He would have to find Vaala some other way.

Outside, Reevan saw the Ashtongue Broken for the first time. They were tall and massive, even more so than their uncorrupted counterparts. Some were clad in little more than rags, but all carried surprisingly sturdy weapons and moved about with grim expressions and definite purpose. One of them in particular stood out from the rest. He was even taller than the average draenei or broken, and his deformities were even more readily apparent. Still, there was something about his demeanor that immediately branded him as a leader. This had to be the elusive Elder Sage, Akama.

Suddenly, one of the Broken shouted something and pointed to the sky. Several dozen pairs of eyes followed the movement, and, a moment later, a single, shouted word carried out to the farthest ends of the ranks-

"_Demons!_"

And, indeed, a number of winged doomguard were already swooping down from the skies. Reevan gripped his staff tightly, and the single crystal it was adorned with glowed brightly in response only to fade as the energies gathered within were released in a series of short, focused arcane blasts that hit two of the demons and sent them tumbling to the ground. The simple spell proved to be far more taxing than Reevan had thought it would be. Nevertheless, he gathered his strength and focused for another arcane assault, and another one after that. There would be time for a brief respite later... if there was any 'later' to be had at all.

**5.**

There was no telling what sort of magics had been used to seal off the upper tier, and Vaala had no hopes that she would be able to break her way through even if she'd known what they were. Thus far, she'd checked two of the four passageways that lead to other parts of the temple, and both of them had turned out to be not only dead ends, but also utterly deserted. Whoever had woven the spells must have had the utmost confidence in their work.

Vaala's earlier restlessness had given way to a strange, almost surreal feeling of calmness. She had no doubts now that Illidan was well and truly insane, thinking himself to be invincible even with undeniable proof of the contrary right there for him to see. The Sha'tar were nothing if not persisting. Eventually, they would find a way in, either through battering down the gates or breaching whatever wards prevented them from mass teleporting inside, and a bloodbath would undoubtedly ensue.

There was no victory to be had without one side completely wiping out the other. Things had long since gone past the point where anything less could have sufficed. And, all things considered, it was painfully obvious who the victors would be in the end. The Illidari had low numbers and even lower morale. Resources were also dwindling. Supplies had long since ceased coming through, and not two days before, food and water rations had been halved.

A third passage also turned out to be a dead end, the ward here even more powerful than those before it. Vaala leaned against a wall and sighed deeply. Not for the first time, she felt trapped, like a mere pebble swept in an ever-speeding current and headed towards a brusque, inexorable end.

Not that escaping would have been any wiser at this point. Illidan had a sure way of finding her no matter how far or how fast she would run.

Vaala touched her pedant with a pensive look. The gem was bound to her in a subtle but nonetheless powerful way, while at the same time it bound her to her master. She'd tried taking it off once, only to find herself become inexplicably weak as soon as she'd done it. She kicked at the opposite wall in a sudden burst of anger. Her own foolishness had lead to this, and now it was likely that-

Vaala blinked as the impact dislodged a few stones, which fell down with dull thuds. The wall behind them appeared to be hollow. Her curiosity piqued, she bent down and squinted through the hole. There was a faint sound of trickling water coming from the other side. She smiled a little and took out a small, needle-sharp dagger. If this was an aqueduct of some sort, then it would certainly lead to one of the lower areas of the temple. Humming a little, she began to take out more stones, making a hole big enough to crawl through.

**6.**

"Slay all who see us! Word must not get back to Illidan!"

The shout carried over the battlefield with easily enough strength to give heart not only to the Ashtongue, but to others as well. Akama fought with the fury of a thousand storms, as did the other Broken who pressed at his side. The demons fought back, fiercely at first, then with increasing desperation as the Sha'tar began to drive them back.

Some distance away from the front lines, Reevan wiped his brow with the sleeve of his robes. The casting he'd done was beginning to take its toll in the earnest. He felt chilled to the bone, but even so, sweat poured down his face and into his eyes, blinding him. When the first cries of victory began to sweep through the ranks he sank to his knees and closed his eyes, grateful for the brief respite. Somewhere up ahead, the commanders were already urging the troops forward through the breach in the wall. Reevan found the strength to smile a little. The victory had been bought with blood, sweat and lives, but it had happened nonetheless. This was a promising sign.

A large, yet surprisingly gentle hand touched his shoulder and someone said a few words. Reevan opened his eyes with an effort. His vision swam dangerously for a few moments and he felt bile rising in his throat. He swallowed thickly, grimacing at the bitter taste. When his eyes focused enough, he saw a draenei anchorite kneeling next to him.

Reevan tried to stand, only to fall back to one knee as his senses all but left him. He cursed inwardly, too spent to even say the words out loud. Of all the times-

"Hold still," the draenei urged. Then, he closed his eyes and muttered a quick prayer. His hands began to glow with the Light and a bright halo enveloped them both for a few moments before fading away just as quick.

Reevan took a few deep breaths, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from his chest. Even so, it took a considerable effort to stand and he had to lean on his staff to keep himself from falling down again.

"You are spent," the draenei pointed out rather unnecessarily. "You should rest before-"

"You should tend to the other wounded," Reevan snapped back.

The anchorite glared at him for a moment, then shrugged and hurried away. Reevan watched him depart, then searched his satchel until he found a small, round vial made of a translucent crystal that could withstand almost anything. He uncorked it, hesitated only for a brief moment, then downed the potion in one big gulp. He hadn't thought he'd need to resort to it this soon, but this was hardly the time for regrets.

It wasn't long before the potion began to do its work. Feeling far more refreshed now, Reevan once again turned his attention to the breach. Most of the Sha'tar had already gone through, and judging by the faint sounds that reached his ears, skirmishes were already happening within. Still using his staff as a crutch, Reevan hurried after them. He knew that the effects of the potion would not last long, but hopefully, that would be enough for what he had in mind. He could only hope that he would not be too late.

**7.**

The aqueduct was old, crumbling, and nearly drained. It was slightly tilted, and the bottom was clogged with rotting vegetation and other slippery residue that made the advance slow and even dangerous at times. Vaala couldn't tell how much time had passed since she'd began to crawl through it, but she could have sworn it'd been several hours at least. The air was stale and heavy with the stench of rotting flesh, but whether it was from dead rats and toads or something far more sinister, Vaala didn't care to know.

At some point, Vaala heard shouts and thundering footsteps coming from beyond a wall to her left. She froze and held her breath until the noise died down. Considering the smells that surrounded her, that was almost an improvement.

Eventually, the aqueduct joined with a much larger half-pipe that had a steady flow of almost crystal-clear water coursing through it. Gratefully, Vaala took a moment to wash the muck away from her hands and boots.

_What are you doing?_

Vaala started a little despite herself. She'd expected Illidan to be distracted by whatever nefarious plans he had in store for the Sha'tar. "You need someone to keep an eye on the courtyard," she answered, trying to keep herself from sounding too annoyed with the intrusion.

_My warlocks are doing just that. _A pause, then, _If I didn't know you any better, I could almost believe that you are trying to escape. _

Vaala gave a bitter laugh. "That would be stupid of me," she said. "Besides, it wouldn't matter anyway, would it?" '_You've made sure of that, you scheming bastard,_' she added inwardly.

_I warned you that I would suffer no treachery, from you or any other of your race. If you attempt anything-_

"I won't."

Vaala waited for a few moments, then, having received no answer, she moved forward. It took a long time before she finally heard the sound of rushing water, which meant that she was finally nearing her goal. Eventually she saw a wall not too far ahead, with an opening barely through which the water flowed onward. It was too small to crawl through, and completely submerged.

This left Vaala with only one other course of action. She took several steps back, then closed her eyes and began to draw more power from the amulet. She had tried this spell only once before, and the results from that time had been hardly encouraging. Nonetheless, she focused hard, channeling the energies into a globe of fire that grew bigger with every passing moment. An instant before the writhing mass of fel-green flames became too unstable to control, Vaala took one step back and flung it at the wall with all her strength. She crouched down and covered her ears as a deafening blast rocked the narrow space and chunks of stone and debris flew in all directions. However, her spell had been far more effective than she'd hoped. There was a gaping hole where the wall had been, and through it she could see most of the courtyard beyond-

Vaala's eyes widened in shock. She saw fel orcs, draenei and blood elves locked in a fierce, desperate battle that spanned most of the courtyard and the wide stairway that lead to the temple itself.

The gates were still standing. The Sha'tar had found another way in.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Author's Note:**_

_Happy New Year, everyone! _

_Now then. As you will probably be able to tell from this chapter, we're nearing the end of 'Shadow of Shadowmoon. I really hope you've enjoyed the story so far! _

_One final note – the lyrics I used are from the song 'Gatekeeper' by Nightwish. I wanted to give a nod to my favorite band ever for quite some time now, and I finally found the place to do it in this chapter :) (Re-written as of 5/6)  
_

**1.**

At first, Vaala could only stare at the carnage happening not twenty feet below. She had no sympathy for the fel orcs, but even so, her chest tightened painfully as she realized that very few of them, if any at all, would be making it out of this alive. The Sha'tar were present in overwhelming numbers. Their warriors and paladins were strong enough to hold the orcs at bay, while casters rained their destructive spells from behind.

It was the casters that finally drew Vaala's attention away from the orcs. They were barely a handful, but more than enough to turn the tide of the battle in favor of the Sha'tar. The orcs were too caught in their bloodlust to realize that, of course, and while their sheer resilience was enough to put a dent in the numbers of the attackers, they would ultimately accomplish little else.

Vaala reached out with her altered senses and scanned each of the casters in turn. Powerful, all of them, and likely battle-hardened as well. There was little she could do from her hiding place, and stepping on the battlefield would have meant certain death. But once the Sha'tar would be inside the temple, the narrow corners and tricky corridors would provide ample opportunities for an ambush, and the satyr guarding the lower tiers were cunning enough to take advantage of-

Vaala's breath caught in her throat as the casters broke rank and moved forward. She hadn't taken notice of him before, his presence all but obscured by the auras of the other magisters, but now she saw the one man whose being here changed everything.

Reevan appeared far more weakened than she'd ever seen him before. He was using his staff not as a magical aid but as a simple crutch, and he walked awkwardly, pausing after every other step. At his side, Vaala spotted another magister, one who appeared far older and far more powerful. As she watched, the other magister began to channel a replenishment spell. Its effects were apparent almost straight away. Inwardly, Vaala breathed a sigh of relief.

The Sha'tar had already cleaved a path through to the doors leading into the temple itself and were now moving to finish off the few orcs that were still left. Setting aside her concerns for the moment, Vaala stepped back from the hole she'd made earlier, took a few deep breaths and forced herself to think clearly. First off, the enemy would attempt to secure their newly-gained foothold. This gave her time to... to do _what_, exactly?

Vaala sighed. There was hardly anything she _could _do, all things considered. Exposing herself, she realized, would not only raise suspicion on part of the Sha'tar, but risk tempting Illidan's wrath as well. For now, it was probably best to simply watch... and wait.

The fighting outside died down after a while, until the only sounds left were shouted orders and the occasional heaves or grunts as someone went about whatever laborious they were assigned to do. Vaala took out one of her blades and began to twirl it idly. Not for the first time, she marveled at the alien craftsmanship. Whatever metal the sword had been fashioned of was both malleable and strangely resilient, likely due to some enchantment so ancient it was almost part of the weapon itself now. It could make a clean slash through almost anything, be it flesh, bone, and even leather or chainmail armor...

...and that _would _be useful in the coming fights, although Vaala found herself wondering not for the first time whose side she would be fighting on now that the inevitable was happening at last.

A faint, rhythmic splashing noise made Vaala stand up suddenly. Somebody was coming, and judging by the clumsy sounds their footsteps made, they were not trying to conceal their presence. She drew her other sword and flattened herself against the wall just as Veras Darkshadow came into view.

The two rogues sized each other up. Veras didn't make any move to attack. Instead, he crossed his arms ostensibly. Vaala relaxed her stance just a little, but kept her grip on her swords firm. Veras had already proven himself to be full of unpleasant surprises.

"If you want to strike me down, go for it," Veras sneered after a few moments of tense silence. "Otherwise, stand down. I'm not here to fight this time."

"Then why did you follow me?"

Veras rolled his eyes. "You think yourself too important, you know. I simply saw a breach in our defenses and I decided to investigate. I had no way of knowing that was your handiwork. Besides -" he gestured vaguely towards the courtyard "- fighting now would be hardly appropriate, wouldn't you say?"

Vaala shrugged, then lowered her swords. "Knowing you, I'm surprised you're still around. Whatever happened to 'we should get out of here while there is still time'?"

Veras let the taunt slide with barely a twitch of his lips. "I could say the same things to you, but none of that would make any difference now. Last I checked, you were hardly prepared to die for our 'cause' here. Unless..." He shifted his posture slightly, but kept his arms crossed. "...You already have a way out."

Vaala's shoulders sagged slightly. "_Had_," she muttered. "Not anymore."

"Then... maybe we can help each other out."

Vaala arched her eyebrows, intrigued despite herself. "Are you offering something? Because if you're expecting me to trust you after all-"

"I want to live. And so do you."

"That isn't _nearly _enough to-"

"_Also_," Veras went on, raising his voice slightly to cover hers, "I can make sure that your brother walks out of this alive."

Vaala kept her expression unchanged. It was obvious that Veras needed her for whatever trick he had in mind. There was, of course, the off-chance that he was bluffing in a desperate attempt to save his own skin, but all things considered, trusting him – at least for now – was probably worth the risk. "All right, then," she said after a few moments. "What did you have in mind?"

**2.**

The Fel Horde had proven to be no less of an obstacle than the Sha'tar had been expecting. There were no prisoners to be taken at the end of the assault; orc and demon alike had fought to their dying breath here. Broken bodies littered the courtyard from one end to the other, and those of the Sha'tar who hadn't already been sent off to storm other parts of the temple were left to the grim task of setting aside the remains of friends and foes alike.

Reevan had found a momentary respite after the fighting had ceased. The magister appeared to be resting. He sat on the ground, his back against what had probably been the base of a carved statue once, and his eyes were closed. Secretly, however, he was probing the wards that barred entry to the upper levels and carefully weaving a path through. The commotion happening all around him had died down to a mere distraction at the back of his mind, and thus far, no-one had intruded upon his meditation.

Some time passed before Reevan was finally satisfied with his work. It would take a considerable amount of power to make the one-way spell work, and the slightest error on his part could have the most dire of consequences. He traced the path again, pausing at every junction to make sure that nothing – magical or otherwise – would get in the way.

Reevan took a deep breath, then began to chant the words of power under his breath...

...only to stop a moment later, as he sensed the presence of another powerful caster nearby.

"This might not work," Andurien said even before Reevan opened his eyes.

Reevan didn't have to ask himself how Andurien knew. Somehow, he expected no less of the priest. "I know," he answered. "And still-"

"And even if it does, you might not be strong enough to use the same kind of spell to return. There's a whole army waiting up there, and you are just one man. Without your magic-"

"I _know_," Reevan said again, then sighed. "With any luck, I can pass as one of them long enough to find Vaala and get us both to a safe place until all this is over. If I have to fight, then I will. And... if I am to die..." He took a deep breath. "Then I will die knowing that I did all I could to get her back."

"A noble sentiment, but, if memory serves, she didn't seem too eager to leave the last time you two met," Andurien pointed out dryly.

Reevan was silent for a long moment. "Things have... changed," he said at length. "I can only hope, for her sake... for _our_ sake... that she will come to see reason in the end."

"And then what?"

Reevan frowned. "I'm not certain I know what you mean," he said, his voice suddenly filled with apprehension.

"She is a _traitor_, Reevan. It was no coincidence that the Sunfury attacked us when they did. Your sister may have very well given Illidan vital information about the Scryers and-"

"None of that matters now!" Reevan snapped, rising his voice in anger. "Look around you! The Black Temple has fallen! Illidan will be dead before the day is done! And I will kill anyone – _anyone!_ - who tries to take her from me again!"

They glared at each other for a while, then, finally, Andurien was the one to look away. "I wish you luck, then," he said wryly, even though his demeanor said otherwise. "Light willing, you will both come back unharmed, and then... come what may."

Reevan sighed. "Thank you, old friend," he said truthfully. "I will not ask you to-"

"Then don't," Andurien muttered grimly. Then, without anything else, he turned and walked away, leaving Reevan feeling even less confident than before.

**3.**

"Gathios pulled all of our forces back to make sure that the master's inner sanctum would be well protected. Of course, you and I both know that won't be enough in the end..." Veras waited until Vaala gave a half-hearted nod, then spoke on, "This has got nothing to do with numbers and _everything _to do with morale. We've been lied to ever since-"

"Get to the point."

Veras glared for a few seconds before continuing, "Most of the Sunfury are fools, but apparently they're fools with principles. They're willing to let themselves be slaughtered rather than admit that they cast their lot with the wrong side. _And_ -" he held up a finger as Vaala opened her mouth to interrupt him again "- those who _are _admitting it will do nothing more for fear that Illidan will shut them up for good. You may not fear him, but-"

"I do," Vaala said quietly.

Veras crossed his arms again. "Good," he said. "Illidan thinks that fear is the best way to instill loyalty, but I take it you know better than that by now... and, if you had any way of breaking free, you would have done it long ago." Speaking, Veras glanced meaningfully at her medallion.

"If you know what this is, then you _know_ there isn't anything I can do about it," Vaala snapped. "Now, are you going to tell me-"

"He can't harm either of us if he's dead."

Vaala froze. The mental link she shared with Illidan was thankfully quiet, so there was little chance he'd heard what Veras had just implied. This, however, was but a small comfort in face of a deeper, far more concerning realization.

Truthfully, she _did _fear Illidan. That, however, was most certainly not all that she felt towards her master. There was something else there, too, something that made her chest cringe in a way she could not explain. Was it a twisted kind of trust she felt? Or was it a deeper, darker sense of loyalty? There had been times... few and far between, but there _had _been times when Illidan had shown at least some semblance of concern towards her. And then, there was the fact that he'd entrusted her with a fraction of his power and seen to it that she became strong enough to wield it. Such was no small feat. If anything, it marked her in a way that went beyond anything that the eye could see...

"Well?" Veras asked after a while.

Vaala stared directly into his eyes for a long, drawn-out moment, but it was nigh impossible to tell what the other rogue was thinking behind his guarded expression. "What are you _saying?_" she asked slowly. She needed time and, at any rate, Veras seemed in no hurry to reveal whatever he was scheming this time.

"As I said before, the master's sanctum is well-guarded... for now." Veras spat in disgust, then continued, "Gathios and his men will have the pitiful last stand they seem to crave so much. Can you imagine how they will be remembered for it? Traitors... villains... _fools_. This place is done for, and if we don't act, _we _are done for as well."

"And how do you suggest we act, then?" Vaala asked with a shrug. "Fleeing is hardly an option now, and turning on Illidan would only speed up the inevitable."

Veras chuckled "It may be too late to flee, but we can still surrender. The more Sunfury we can convince to lay down their weapons, the quicker this will end. And trust me, there are more than a few men who-"

"There is no 'we' in this."

Veras paused mid-word, jaw hanging. "I... I thought that you'd be eager to save yourself," he stuttered finally.

"You were wrong."

"You will _die!_" Veras pressed, his voice rising with every word.

"Then, so be it," Vaala said coldly, and for a moment, her own words surprised her. But somehow, against all reason, this felt _right_. "Either way... my choice is made"

_And wisely so_, came the unbidden voice of her master.

A second later, Veras was left staring at an empty space.

**4.**

For a few horrifying moments, Reevan thought that his spell had failed and he was falling through the world and into the Nether beyond. Then his body hit something hard, and the impact was strong enough to daze him for a while. He couldn't tell how long had passed until his senses returned. He was lying flat on his back on what appeared to be mercifully solid rock, one hand covering his eyes while the other still held his staff in a painfully tight grip. Groaning, he propped himself up on one elbow. The motion brought on a strong wave of nausea, but Reevan did his best to ignore it as he finally surveyed his surroundings.

The promenade he'd transported himself to was utterly deserted. Here and there, various weapons and other items lay discarded. The Sunfury had probably left in a hurry, though whether it had been to fight or flee, Reevan didn't know. The gardens he'd seen on his previous visit to the temple appeared to have long since withered, the leaves and blades of grass turned to sickly shades of yellows and putrid browns.

Reevan took a deep breath, then climbed to his feet shakily. A second later, he had to lean heavily on his staff, and he cursed out loud. The spell had taken a far greater toll than he'd expected. His free hand hovered close to his satchel for a few moments as he pondered what to do next. He only had one potion left, and the effects of the enchanted elixir would only last for so long after he drank it. With a sigh, he decided to rely on what little strength he had left... for now.

"You there! Why aren't you with the others?"

Reevan turned around slowly, doing his best to hide his surprise. A Sunfury guard was rushing towards him and waving her arms frantically. He bowed his head a little, hoping that the gesture would be enough to abate any suspicion. "I had other duties to attend to," he answered as she came to a stop next to him, panting heavily.

"Other duties?" the guard breathed with a look of disbelief. "On whose orders? What for? What could _possibly _be more important than sustaining the wards?" The questions came in rapid succession, and it was easy to see that she was either panicking or close to it.

Reevan almost grinned. This guard was probably sent to round up any stragglers and make sure that the defenses were properly upheld, but in her current state, she would hardly stop long enough to actually question his motives. "I have just returned from the gates," he said with just enough urgency to make the other fidget nervously. "The Sha'tar have broken in and are battling their way through the lower levels as we speak."

The guard gasped in shock. "But the gates-"

"The Council must know about this," Reevan pressed, a little desperately.

"The Council..." the guard muttered, more to herself than to Reevan. She frowned, seeming conflicted about something, but after a few moments concern appeared to win in front of whatever suspicions she might have been harboring. "Go to the others. I will notify the Council myself." She was sprinting off even before she'd finished the last words.

Reevan watched her go until she rounded a corner and disappeared, then finally allowed himself to smile. This had almost been too easy. Now, if he could only remember which way to-

The magister started suddenly as an eerie sound reached his ears. He closed his eyes, listening intently.

Somebody was singing.

The tune was hauntingly familiar, an old lament that he'd heard many times after the fall of Quel'thalas. He began to walk, following the sound. As he got nearer, the words became clearer as well.

_One by one they died...  
A massacre that took all night...  
_

And then, he saw them. They were sitting in the withering grass, four sin'dorei women who looked far too young to be in such a Sun-forsaken place. Their garments were strikingly beautiful, made of pure-white silk and embroidered with gold and silver thread, and their long, flowing hair was braided with withered buds of Peacebloom. They were holding hands, leaning gently this way and that in time with the song.

_They had no chance, it was no fight,  
You can't kill what has been killed before,  
They died..._

One of the women saw him and stood up abruptly, startling the others. The singing ceased. "Yes? What is it?" she asked with surprising gentleness.

Reevan bit his lower lip, unsure of what to say. These women looked nothing like the enemy the Sha'tar were here to fight. Suddenly, he couldn't bear to look any of them in the eye. "You should find a safe place to hide until all this is over," he tried, aware that his own voice was shaking a little.

The woman laughed dreamily, and the others did the same. "Over... yes, it _will _be over soon soon, will it not...?" she chimed as she let herself fall down in the grass.

Reevan stared at her for a long moment. She was still smiling, and her eyes were glazed over as though she were looking at something that no-one else could see. He opened his mouth to urge her to get to safety, to tell her that there was hope... and then, he realized that there was nothing more he could do. Fear, or perhaps something else, had robbed her of her mind, and the others looked very much the same. With an effort, he tore his gaze away from them and walked away, the haunting melody dogging his steps for a long while after.

_A morbid hunger for blood,_  
_ Lies in their cold black eyes_  
_ They've come to take our lifes away..._

**5.**

Veras blinked once, then looked around with a frown. His senses told him what his mind refused to comprehend. Suddenly and without any explanation, he was alone.

With little else to do, Veras settled for observing the Sha'tar. Those left behind were already fortifying their position, setting up tents and barricades that spanned the width and breadth of the courtyard. Veras grimaced in disgust when he saw that there were more than a few Ashtongue Broken among them, too. It stood to reason that those filthy slaves would be the first ones to betray them all. Illidan should have cast them from the temple long before it had come to that...

_Illidan. _Veras clenched his fists at the thought of his master. If only Illidan had done things differently. His forces could have conquered the remains of Draenor easily and then, working with the Naaru - rather than provoking them for no reason at all, Veras reminded himself grimly - they could have wiped out any remainders of the Burning Legion, and perhaps even lived on to return to Azeroth someday.

Of course, it was far too late for any of that, now that defeat had become a matter of 'when' rather than 'if'. The Sha'tar were already spreading through other parts of the temple and, with Akama's lackeys to bolster their ranks-

Veras chuckled darkly as another thought came. He turned around, checked that his daggers would slip easily from their sheaths if he was to need them, then began to walk back the way he'd come. It was twice as difficult to scale the slippery stone of the aqueduct as it had been to slide down one of its edges, but that only served to fuel his anger even more. He liked the anger. He _welcomed _it.

If he was to die after all, then he would take as many of them with him as he could. The Sha'tar would pay dearly for their victory.

And he would be _remembered. _

**6.**

"They are breaking through! Be ready!"

Among the other Sunfury, Vaala gripped her swords tightly and closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow and her thoughts to be still. She was ready.

The mage who had shouted the warning began to cast just as the twin doors that barred entry to this part of the temple were torn from their hinges by a powerful blast. The first Sha'tar to charge through the breach were swept back by a roaring wall of flame.

The attackers responded with a flurry of arrows that left three Sunfury dead and two more writhing on the ground in agony. As the archers fumbled to reload their weapons, Vaala charged. She was in their middle before they could fire again, her swords nigh unseen as they sliced through armor, flesh and bone with laughable ease, and she cut down several of them before they realized what was going on. Another Sunfury appear at her side, swinging a polearm at a draenei anchorite she hadn't felt approaching. He gave her a nod, and Vaala grinned deviously in return.

Everything after that became a blur. A while later, Vaala became aware that the few remaining Sha'tar were fleeing, some tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades in their haste to get away. She thought to give chase, then changed her mind with a shrug. They'd driven them back, and that was good enough for now.

But her elation faded as she looked over her shoulder. Out of the dozen or so defenders she'd fought alongside of, barely three were left standing. The Sha'tar would soon return... and the Sunfury lacked the numbers to push them back a second time. Their commanding officer had been among the first to fall, and then...

And _then_, they'd followed her into battle, hadn't they?

"We must fall back."

The survivors regarded her with empty eyes. Vaala looked at each of them in turn, but in their eyes she saw nothing. These men and women looked as though they'd already resigned to their fates. Leaving them to it and getting a safe distance away before the Sha'tar would return in full force was the sensible thing to do...

It was the _only_ thing to do.

And yet, as she walked past the remains of the dead and the still-living bodies of those who would soon join them, Vaala couldn't help but feel a pang of true regret.


	16. Epilogue

_**Author's Note:**_

_Check the end of this chapter for this week's comments. Don't want to spoil anything. _

**1.**

The halls were filled with the clatter of metal against metal and the blood-curling screams of the dying and, try as she might, Vaala could do little to shut them out this time. After debating with herself the merits of taking part in what would undoubtedly be the last stand of the Sunfury, Vaala had decided she wanted no part in it after all and then sought refuge in one of the abandoned common rooms, as far away from the fighting as she could get.

She'd been discovered fairly quickly, and twice at that. Those who'd been unfortunate enough to step into the chamber – a draenei and a blood elf – lay dead where her blades had struck them. Vaala didn't know if the souls of the dead would linger around to appreciate such things but, either way, she'd made their deaths quick and painless. After all, hardly any of this had been their fault.

There were many things scattered about the room – discarded clothing, tomes, jewelry, even a few weapons here and there. Their former owners would have little use for them now, so Vaala busied herself rummaging around for a while. When her efforts produced nothing worth so much as a second glance, she sat down on one of the beds with a sigh and looked her swords over instead. Both blades were slick with blood, but unscathed otherwise. She began to clean one of her blades with a silken handkerchief she'd found earlier, and let her thoughts momentarily drift away... until the slamming of a door nearby shook her out of her reverie.

Instinctively, Vaala stepped through the shadows, concealing her presence. She saw a young magister struggling to bar the chamber door then, when his efforts finally yielded results, he leaned against it and sighed deeply. His robes were tattered and stained with blood, though he didn't appear to be wounded otherwise. After a few moments he turned around and, predictably enough, he gasped when he saw the lifeless bodies of Vaala's earlier pursuers. "I-is anyone there?" he called out hoarsely.

Vaala frowned, pondering whether or not to reveal herself. Before she could reach a decision, however, the door shook once as something hard struck it from the other side. She barely had time to step out of the way as the magister bolted to the other end of the chamber and pressed himself against the wall, his body shaking with unbridled terror.

It took a few more blows until the door finally gave in with a deafening noise. A moment later, three Ashtongue Broken stepped inside, their unnaturally large eyes fixed on the cowering blood elf. One of them said something in their own tongue. The other two nodded. Then, one moved to stand by the splintered door, barring any hopes of escape, while the other two began to close in on their intended prey.

"Stay back!" the magister cried, eyes wide. "_Stay back!_"

Vaala watched the whole scene unfold with curious detachment. None of the Broken had sensed her presence yet, but they were bound to do a more thorough search of the chamber after they'd finished off their quarry. The one standing in the doorway all but covered it with his massive bulk, making any attempt to sneak away a fairly tricky feat.

She observed the two Broken as raised their weapons to strike Their kind was hardly known for any combat skills, and their sturdiness hardly than made up for it. Even their weapons were laughable, one nothing more than a piece of lumber with crudely-fashioned spikes sticking out at odd angles, the other a rusty two-handed axe that had probably been discarded by someone long ago. Taking them out, then finishing off the third Broken before he could strike or flee, was probably the safest choice. _And_, Vaala thought sharply as she saw the weapons began to descend with impossible slowness, she absolutely would _not_ do it for anybody else's benefit but her own.

Within moments, the two Broken were dead on the ground, their throats pierced from behind. The one by the door turned to flee, only to fall over a heartbeat later, a poisoned dagger embedded deep in his shoulder. Vaala tssk-ed as she plucked her swords free. She'd never been proud of her aim.

With the Broken taken care of, Vaala turned to where the magister still looked like he was trying to sink into the wall behind him. "You're welcome," she said, sheathing her swords. To her surprise, the words came out in an almost soothing voice.

The facts took some time to register, it seemed. By the time the magister had recovered enough to speak, Vaala was already walking away and pondering where to go next.

"_Wait!_"

Vaala stopped and turned her head halfway around, "Yes?"

There was a pause behind her, then, "Where are you going?"

Vaala shrugged. It was wise to assume that the entire upper tier had been overrun by this point, so any direction was probably as good as –

"You must take me with you!"

This time, Vaala turned around fully. She sized up the magister, using not only her sight, but her other senses as well. He was most definitely young, too young to do battle if the Sunfury weren't under such dire circumstances. His magical energies also appeared to be all but spent. Having such a companion in tow would be nothing but a liability.

And still...

"What is your name?" Vaala asked suddenly. If she kept him talking long enough, then perhaps an unexpected solution would present itself. After all – and the thought startled her even more – if she did leave him behind, as she'd originally intended, then his blood would be on her head, and _that_ was certainly not a pleasant notion to entertain.

"Jaelen," the magister answered, looking just as surprised. "Jaelen Proudsun," he went on, sounding a little more confident. "My father was a commander in-"

"What can you do?"

Jaelen looked away, his earlier passion gone just as sudden as it had come. "Not much," he muttered. "I was studying in my chambers when all this happened. I had no idea-"

"Most of us didn't," Vaala interrupted bitterly. "Right now, your best bet... _our_ best bet, even, is to keep moving and hope that we don't run into too many of them at once. Come." With that, she turned and walked through the doorway.

She'd taken a few steps when she heard Jaelen rush after her, babbling his thanks. A few steps after, both rogue and magister came to a sudden stop as a band of Sha'tar skirmishers – twenty strong, perhaps more – emerged from a side passage that neither had noticed before.

"Illidan..." Vaala whispered, reaching for her locket with fingers suddenly too numb to hold a sword. "If you can hear me... I need all the strength you can spare."

Nothing happened at first. The Sha'tar prepared to move in for the kill, weapons drawn, eyes alight with murderous intent. Vaala took a step back, then another. Behind her, Jaelen bolted away with a shriek. She barely spared a thought for him. He'd likely be dead soon enough, the fool.

Underneath her armor, Vaala's enchanted medallion begin to throb and burn.

**2.**

There was fighting everywhere. Reevan could hear it, and sometimes, as he carefully made his way around this part of the temple, he could see it as well. His senses were assaulted by the arcane feedback of so many spells being cast at once. It made focusing on the task at hand even more difficult.

And then, he'd been stopped twice more already: once by a handful of Sunfury demanding he assisted in defending whatever they were set to defend – an order he'd promptly declined, citing an 'urgent message' that had to reach the Illidari Council straight away, and once by a fully-armed Sha'tar group who'd thankfully recognized him and allowed him to move on. There was no sign of Vaala, but each new area he stepped into was either laden with bodies of combatants from either side, or utterly deserted.

Time was growing short.

The courtyard he'd stumbled into was walled off on all sides but the one he'd come through. Heavy stone benches were scattered here and there, their design too crude to have been crafted by any sin'dorei. Nonetheless, there was something about this place that looked strangely familiar.

Reevan clenched his fists abruptly. Yes, he'd definitely been here before, on his one other visit to the Black Temple, when he'd defeated Veras Darkshadow. He could still see the marks their previous encounter had left on the place. Some of the flagstones beneath his feet were charred and, if he looked closely enough, he could still see several stains of dried blood where he'd pinned down the other. He turned around once, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow.

There was no-one else around. Satisfied, Reevan sat down on one of the benches and reached for his satchel, taking out a small vial. He held it in his palm, then turned it over, making the blue-tinted liquid churn idly inside. This was the last potion he had left. It would last a half-hour, or perhaps slightly more if he were careful. And then...

Reevan shook his head sharply. There would be no 'and then' – not this time.

He felt the potion begin to do its work almost immediately after he'd drank it. The world around him came into focus once more, the many loose threads of magic all the more apparent now, their colors crisp and bright against the gloomy browns and blacks of the stone walls. He stood up and brushed a few specs of dust off his robes. From here, he could easily find his way to Vaala's chambers, then hopefully retrace her steps.

Reevan's left arm twitched unexpectedly. He shook it once, then again, but that only served to send a wave of dull pain through his shoulder. By the time the searching fingers of his other hand found the shaft of the thin felsteel bolt, he was already falling forward, his muscles suddenly too stiff to support his balance.

"Ah... Spymaster. I'd say it's a pleasure, but I'm afraid even _I_ can't lie about that."

Reevan tried to push himself up, but found that his arms wouldn't move. The bolt had likely been poisoned with a crippling concoction that had rendered every muscle in his body inert. He could see nothing from where he'd fallen, but the voice, at least, he knew all too well.

"Oh, don't look so _stunned_," Veras said mockingly as he came into view and made a show of dragging his daggers out of their sheaths with infuriating slowness. He chuckled darkly, "After all... the best is yet to come!"

**3.**

The power...

It was primal, intoxicating... overwhelming. Vaala had never felt anything like it before. Neither her locket, nor Illidan's later 'gifts' or the boon she'd received after slaying her one demonic foes... indeed, _nothing _could ever measure up to what she felt now, basking in the full glory of her master's power.

The Sha'tar stopped in their tracks, likely sensing the surge of energy as well. Vaala flashed them her most disarming smile, and she saw several of them flinch or draw back. She laughed, delighting in their sudden hesitation. This... by the Sun, _this_ was what she had always been meant to do.

The first few enemies were dead before they even saw her coming at them, swords drawn, lips curled back in a sneer. Several more attempted to slice or stab at her, only to be disarmed or disposed of just as quickly. Those still left standing were scrambling to get out of the way now, their numbers turned from an advantage into a decisive weakness. There wasn't enough room for any complex maneuvers, and some of the hapless Sha'tar actually stabbed at their comrades in their eagerness to put as much distance between Vaala as themselves as they could, for all the good that did them.

_Leave none alive!_ came her master's eager command.

Vaala was more than happy to oblige.

It was all over quickly, _too_ quickly even. The last of the Sha'tar staggered a few steps more before collapsing and succumbing to his wounds. Vaala spun around once, taking in her handiwork, delighting in it. Once, she would have either turned and fled, like Jaelen had, or even dropped her swords and bargained her way out of this somehow. But there was no need to run. Not anymore.

_Well done_, Illidan said appreciatively. _Now, on to- _

The voice stopped abruptly. Vaala tensed. "My lord...?" she called, feeling an inexplicable wave of apprehension wash over her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

There were a few moments of unnerving silence, then, _You are needed elsewhere_.

Then, an image flashed in front of her eyes: a small courtyard, not unlike the one where she'd encountered the strange, raving Ashtongue elder so many months ago, and two shadowy figures, one towering over the other, weapons drawn. The vision was too hazy for her to distinguish their features, but the instant she saw it, she knew who they were.

_Make haste! _Illidan urged even as Vaala broke into a run, hoping and praying that she wouldn't arrive too late.

**4.**

"How kind of you to stop by, Reevan. Did you want to make sure that your henchmen do their job properly? Or were you planning on doing some dirty work yourself? Or..." Veras pointed a trembling finger to the incapacitated magister, "perhaps you came here to finish me off yourself?"

Reevan glared. "I figured you'd already fled," he said with a sneer.

"Why does everyone keep _saying _that?" Veras muttered sullenly, more to himself than to his foer.

Now it was Reevan's turn to laugh, albeit faintly. "If I didn't know you any better, I could almost believe you, Veras. The only reason you're still here, I'd assume, is because you couldn't even muster the courage to-"

"Oh, _shut up_," Veras said dismissively, though Reevan could tell he'd struck a nerve by the way the other's lips twitched. "And what do _you_ know of courage, anyway? You, who betrayed our people and our prince to save your meager life? You, who sent your own kin to sacrifice her freedom in your stead? You... you... _you!_"

Reevan could feel the poison biting deeper. He knew that Veras delighted in keeping his victims alive for as long as he could before he dealt the finishing blow, but thus far, the rogue had seemed far more interested in ranting and raving like a possessed man rather than inflicting any kind of pain.

"You're probably wondering why I didn't slit your throat straight away," Veras said suddenly, likely guessing his thoughts.

"You want something."

Veras pursed his lips, feigning a deeply thoughtful expression. "Oh, I want _many_ things," he said casually after a few moments. "Nothing to do with you though, I'm afraid. I'll be on my way soon enough, but in the meantime, I do hope you won't rob me of the pleasure to watch you die."

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Reevan felt a shiver run down his spine. So, this was to be his end, after everything he'd been through, after everything he'd _done_...

Veras leaned back and crossed his arms. Minutes passed. The poison was doing its work, undaunted. What had started as an unpleasant tingling in his chest quickly became pain, faint at first, then getting steadily stronger. Reevan bit his lower lip to keep himself from showing any sign of distress. He would not give Veras that satisfaction, at least.

"You can still beg for your life, you know," Veras went on, twirling one of his daggers idly. "I won't listen, of course, but at least you'll keep me entertained for a while longer."

Reevan managed to turn his head a little and look away. "I... die... with dignity," he gasped.

Veras shook his head and smirked. "No... _no_, my friend. You die like a _fool._"

**5.**

Vaala could feel her heart thundering in her chest, but she didn't slow or stop. Those who stood in her way, Sha'tar and Sunfury alike, wound up either dead or fleeing. Up a flight of stairs, then along one of the larger promenades, down a long, winding hallway, and finally –

Vaala came to an abrupt stop. She saw two figures - one standing, one fallen. Her senses immediately told her which one was which.

"_Veras!_"

The single word carried with it all of her anger, all of her _hatred._ Veras Darkshadow whirled around and she saw that he was smirking. This was the final straw. With an incoherent cry, Vaala charged.

Veras defended himself easily at first, deflecting her attacks with grace and shouting taunts and mockeries as they went. Even with the boon granted to her by Illidan, Vaala found that they were more than evenly matched. After a while, she became dimly aware that she was bleeding from a large cut across left forearm. The wound stung, but it was nothing compared to the hatred burning in her chest.

Soon, Veras began to tire. He tried to use one of his vanishing tricks, but Vaala was ready for it and broke his concentration with a side blow that sent one of his daggers flying beyond reach.

Veras staggered back a few steps. "Wait!" he cried, raising both hands in a surrendering gesture. "I yield! I-"

He stared down, eyes wide with disbelief. Her sword had pierced his chest, so forcefully that it was buried nearly to the hilt.

"You..." Veras hissed as the edges of his vision began to darken. "You got lucky."

**6.**

Reevan had been unable to do anything but close his eyes and keep his mind empty of any intruding thoughts. The pain was beginning to dull his other senses, and he found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. Strange visions assaulted him, though whether they were dreams, memories or something else, he couldn't tell. He knew now with sickening certainty that he was dying. And yet, he held on to a tiny shred of awareness, intent on seeing how the fight would end.

He couldn't tell how much time was passing between one coherent thought and the next. Eventually, he felt a pair of strong, yet surprisingly gentle arms reach out and lift him into an embrace. He opened his eyes, then smiled weakly when he saw his sister lean over him. "Vaala..."

She smiled back, tears falling freely from her eyes. "I'm here," she whispered, reaching out to caress his cheek. "I'm going to take care of you."

Reevan winced a little as a fresh wave of pain – not as strong as before, and more troubling for it – forced him to close his eyes and breathe deeply to calm himself. "No... nothing more to do," he managed, his chest aching with every word. "The poison..."

The effort of speaking proved to be too much for the weakened magister. He blacked out, only to be revived moments later as he felt the tip of a vial being pressed to his lips. Dimly, he heard the word, "Drink!"

Whatever the vial contained, it was so bitter that for a moment, the taste of it was stronger than everything else. He obeyed nonetheless, drinking it down to the last drop.

"This will take care of the poison," he heard Vaala say. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Reevan forced himself to open his eyes. "Doesn't matter," he whispered. "All I wanted... was to know... that you are be safe."

"Don't talk like that!" Vaala snapped, her voice shaking. "You don't have to die! I can take care of you! I can..."

But Reevan was already drifting off. The last thing he felt was a rush of magic such as he'd never experienced before. For a moment, he found himself wondering idly if death was supposed to feel this... different. Then, he knew nothing more.

**7.**

Vaala jumped to her feet, looking around wildly. One moment, she was tending to her injured brother. The next, she found herself back at the temple summit, unarmed, and – what was even more unsettling – alone.

"What have you done?" she cried, knowing that Illidan would be close enough to hear it. The words echoed around her several times, then slowly faded out. She dropped to her knees, shaking. "By the Sun," she whispered, hugging herself tightly, "what have you _done?_"

"I have sent your brother back to the Sha'tar," the answer came finally. A moment later, Illidan appeared before her in a swirl of fel magic and spoke on, "They will tend to him better than you could. He will live."

Vaala looked up through her tears, relief and gratitude mingling with forbearance. "You... you did that? Why?"

Illidan held out a hand and helped her to her feet. "Think of it as my parting gift," he said bitterly.

Vaala staggered a little, then righted herself. "Parting gift? What do you-"

"You were among those few who remained loyal to me to the bitter end," he continued, his expression a grim mask of resignation. "I will never forget it, Vaala Dawnstrike, and no world will ever hold enough words for me to express my gratitude."

"What are you..." Vaala began. And then, she realized it. "No! You can still flee! There are hundreds of places where you can-"

"No," Illidan interrupted, and his voice made it clear enough that there would be no bargaining this time. "I still intend to live forever," he added as she opened her mouth to speak again. "To do that, however... I must die."

Vaala blinked once, startled. "How... how does that-"

Illidan held up a hand. Vaala nodded her head miserably, feeling fresh tears gather at the corners of her eyes. For once, she wasn't ashamed of them.

"Your service to me is now complete," Illidan said at length, then offered her a sad, bitter smile. "You may go free... Until we meet again."

"Wait!" Vaala cried as she began to feel the all-too-familiar pulling sensation and she knew that she would never see her master again.

**8.**

She was back in her chambers and, once again, alone.

Vaala sat down on her bed and took her head in her hands. This... this was nothing like what she'd envisioned when she'd first struck that bargain with the demon lord. 'You may go free,' he'd told her, but the freedom she'd once been yearning for felt strangely... useless, now that she'd been granted it. What was she to do now, when-

And then she remembered something else, something that a very dear friend had told her once, in what felt like another lifetime now. "One thing at a time," she heard herself say aloud. "One day at a time," she said again, with a little more confidence this time. She held out her hands and willed her swords to be there. A moment later, she felt their reassuring weight in her grasp. Thus armed, she sat up, then stepped out without looking back.

There was no-one around to bar her way this time. Vaala walked on, the cold, dead bodies of combatants from either side her only companions. Illidan's mind was already turned from hers. She could still feel him vaguely, an ever-lurking shadow at the back of her own thoughts, but even that was fading away.

As she began heading towards the lower levels, Vaala was finally confronted by a small band of blood elves and draenei wearing the colors of the Sha'tar. "Hold!" one of them – likely an officer – called out as she approached. "What shines brighter than a thousand suns?"

Inwardly, Vaala smirked. Such a stupid way of telling friend from foe, she thought. "A'dal," she answered, never slowing her pace. The Sha'tar parted to let her through.

'_One thing at a time..._'

More bodies greeted her as she reached what had once been the central worshiping area of the temple - demons and Ashtongue Broken as well as orcs, draenei sin'dorei. There were more patrols here, but after giving them the password, they let her through without so much as a second glance.

'_One day at a time..._'

Vaala stepped through the massive gates, emerging at the top of the imposing staircase that lead to the main courtyard. She saw more of the Sha'tar, ranks upon ranks of carefully-trained warriors, casters and priests, and she knew that this was the only way it could have ended. Step by step, she began the descent...

She clutched at her shoulder, startled. She saw no blood and sensed no magic, but she still felt as though she'd been struck... no, stabbed with a vicious blade. A moment later, one of her legs buckled under her weight and she staggered. What-

And then, she _knew_. Her link with Illidan was weakened, but not entirely gone. She could still sense him, and if the pain was this strong on her end-

She was falling. Where to, or for how long, she didn't know. When she came round, she was laying flat on the rocky ground and her entire body ached. But that was nothing compared to the sudden emptiness she felt. She reached for her medallion with trembling fingers, whispering, "My lord...?"

The answer never came.

There was shouting some distance away, and Vaala heard the sound rushing footsteps and saw a priest she didn't know kneel at her side. He asked something, words that she didn't care to hear, and then he raised his hand, his fingers already glowing with the Light.

Vaala shook her head and pushed his hand away with an effort. "I'm n-not hurt," she stammered. Her teeth clattered. She felt... cold.

"You need this," the priest insisted, but before he could force his spell on her he was roughly shoved aside and another figure took his place - a face that Vaala knew all too well.

"Everything will be all right," Reevan said as he bent down to scoop her in his arms. "At long last... it is over."

Vaala buried her face in his tattered robes and closed her eyes. She felt herself begin to drift off, and for the first time in a long time she welcomed it.

It was all over. She was safe.

* * *

_**Author's Note, take two:**_

_Well, folks, this is it. I really hope you enjoyed the story, and once again, thank you for all your wonderful reviews and messages. _

_In the end, I did change the canon on one count – rather than have Veras miraculously recover in time to die with the other members of the Council, I figured this would be a more fitting end. I managed to stay true to everything else, though, despite the temptation of going slightly more AU towards the end. Oh well. _

**_Updated 5/6: _**_Well, re-writing this story took much, much longer than I thought it would, but it was well worth it. Several months and lots of editing later, I'm finally happy with it! To those who want to find out what the future has in store for Vaala, Reevan and a number of other characters I can't mention without giving off too much, the second part of Shadow of Shadowmoon is available on my profile.  
_


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Warcraft, Adventure, Fantasy